Jily Secret Santa
by Rubies and Diamonds
Summary: A few oneshots I wrote for my secret santa, ginnyweasley. I hate them all, and couldn't pick the one I hated least, so I just bunched them all together. I am truly sorry you got paired with me.
1. Snuggling

**A/N:** Hello! If you've read the summary - yes, these are my pathetic attempts at Jily Secret Santa.

**Disclaimer:** Whole song and dance - JKR owns, I own nothing, and even if I did I wouldn't know what to do and I don't think the series would ever get finished because I hate everything I write.

* * *

Curling up with someone was usually done by two people in love, so in that sense, seeing James and Lily intertwined together on the Gryffindor couches, talking softly and letting the blazing fire in the hearth warm them wasn't strange. The fact the two wouldn't admit to each other all they really wanted to do was be able to do this without strange looks, to kiss them whilst they were in the middle of saying something just because they could, to run fingers through hair and trace patterns on backs just because physical closeness was what both of them craved, was strange.

"Would you rather… eat a Flobberworm or… have one as a tongue?" James asked after a while.

He was rather enjoying Lily's seat on him, her head on his chest and legs over his own. Not that he could tell her that, of course. Nor the fact he thought she looked positively _radiant_ in the firelight, the way her skin seemed to glow a faint gold where the light hit it, nor the fact her hair was sending him into a frenzy, with its soft melon scent and the way in fell about her face and brushed his sides when she moved.

"Since when are we playing that?" Lily asked, a small smile on her lips. "And eat one. I ate a worm once, on a dare. It can't be much different."

She was rather enjoying having James's arms around her, holding her waist as she curled into him, the other varying between holding her hand, pushing up his glasses or pushing his hair back distractedly. She wished he wouldn't, for all she really wanted to do was push her own fingers through his silky mop, and having him do it right in front of her seemed unfair, like the Fates were teasing her with the fact she couldn't. On more occasion than one she had to clasp her hands together just to stop them from reaching up to do just that.

"That's disgusting." James informed her, raising an eyebrow.

"So's your face," she said, even though she thought the complete opposite.

"Oh, how you wound me, Evans," he said, completely sarcastic. It was a phrase he used often in her presence.

"Hush. Would you rather… Walk in on McGonagall and Filch, or… walk in on Sirius and Marlene?"

"Wow, Lils. I ask about Flobberworms and you give me that?" he shook his head slightly, and then went on to answer her question. "Considering I've already had the misfortune of walking in on the latter… Actually, I'd just walk in on them. You couldn't pay me to see Filch and Minnie going at it."

"But you would happily see my best friend and your own going at it?"

"Not happily, but it would be less scarring than seeing my Professor."

"True," she agreed.

"Okay… Never move again, or never sit still again?"

"You're boring. Ask more fun and partly scarring questions. And never move again. I don't think I'd mind. Your lap is rather comfy." To make her point, she curled up even more, bringing herself closer to him.

"Nice to know all you use me for is a pillow."

"Oh, you've always been a pillow. And a good person to copy Transfiguration from. That's all I keep you around for, really."

"Again with the wounding, Evans."

She only rolled her eyes and poked his face. She was rather articulate in what she really wanted to say, as you can see.

"Kids or no kids?" she asked after a moment.

"Are you insinuating something?"

"In your dreams, perhaps."

"You do frequent them, I must say. And kids. Loads. We could make our own Quidditch team. Little Potter United. Good, huh?"

"Giving birth is a tough business, Potter. I'm not having seven kids."

"Just picture of it though – we have a ginger girl with my eyes, and a boy with yours and my hair, and the girl is like me, all awesome, and the boy is like you, all smart, and we have that one kid who has reddy-brown hair and a mix, not quite green, not quite brown eyes, and both epic and smart, and all the kids are ridiculously popular and funny and charming and everyone loves them – Evans, we have to have kids. It's for the good of the world."

"What about the other five? You only described three. And what would we call them, pray tell?"

"Okay, the girl is born first, and we call her… Gracie. Gracie Potter. The boy with your eyes and my hair is called… Louis. Yeah, Louis. The not quite ginger, not quite brown boy is called Robert. And we have another girl, with your eyes, my hair and wears glasses, and she's called Samantha, Sam for short… And then there's another boy, brightest ginger in the entire world, wears glasses and is tanned, so he looks like a walking traffic cone, but it's okay because he's so slick and cool and all the girls want him, and fall around whenever he's near, and his name's… Trent. That seems like a cool-guy name, right? Then we have Ashleigh and Brittany, who've got brown hair, green eyes, pale skin – they're twins, and _all _of them are marvelous Quidditch players of course, because yours truly is their father, and they are all top of the class, because you are their mother."

She stared at him for a moment, and honestly, she could picture it. They'd be older, and James would have acquired a few wrinkles on his brow, and her roots would be graying, but he'd swear he didn't care, say that she was still beautiful no matter what color her hair was.

Their many kids would run around their house, which was decidedly large, due to the mass amount of people occupying it.

Sirius would vary between living with them and on his own, and they'd have the biggest garden ever, partly for Remus and partly for the Quidditch pitch they'd have to build for the supposedly obsessed children (and James, of course, but he counted as a child, she figured.)

She had been staring at him for a while, until James broke the silence with a "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking Gracie's going to be a jail breaker, work for Gringotts. I can see that. And she'll meet someone abroad. He'll be a lovely bloke with tattoos and scars. She'll need someone like that, I think. Someone to match her recklessness. And Louis will work for Flourish and Blotts, and after a long day's work, he'll go to Florean's, partly for the ice cream, partly because he's a little bit in love with the girl behind the counter. She'll be blonde, and a bit quiet, like him, but funny too. Robert will be… I think he'll go on to play Quidditch. He'll play for Puddlemere; no… he'll start off at Puddlemere, but move to the Canons, because he's _that_ good. He'll fall for some Muggle model that I'm not too fond of, because she keeps flirting with you, but she's in love with Rob so it's okay. Sam's going to go into law, she'll work in both the Muggle world and Wizarding. She'll be the best lawyer ever. She'll meet someone who works in her branch and have two kids. He'll give up work, because she wears the pants in the relationship. Trent – do we have to call him that? Trent Potter… doesn't have the right ring to it. Dylan sounds nice. I like that name. Okay, we're calling him Dylan. _He_ will be a model for Witch Weekly. He won't settle down, I don't think. But I won't mind, because he still visits us and talks about his new girlfriend of the week, and while I'll chide him, I'll secretly be laughing. He'll remind us of Sirius – he'll be like Sirius's sidekick, actually. Oh yeah, Sirius will vary between living with us and living alone. Remus is going to come round every full moon; we'll have a special place in our garden for him – the garden's going to be huge. So is the house, but we'll get around to that later. Then Ashleigh and Brittany… Ashleigh will be an Auror. She sounds all girly and giggly, but that's her talent. She uses her womanly wiles to succeed in missions. She can kick some serious ass. And Brittany will work for the International Magical Co-operation; she'll speak fluent English, French, German, Spanish and Chinese, and will be Head of the Department because, like you said, she's our kid. They'll find twins, and marry, and have twins of their own."

"We could get a house in Godric's Hollow," he suggested. "They have some really nice houses there. Big, family houses with massive gardens. And it's a nice area. They can grow up with all the other Wizarding folk's kids, go to Hogwarts with them."

"Won't it be a bit expensive?"

"I don't' think Mum will mind us dipping into the vault. She'll just be pleased with all the grandkids she'll have to spoil."

"Oh, no. They are _not_ becoming spoilt, little brats. They will be raised normally, not getting showered with gifts and praise and all that crap. They will do chores, and fight occasionally, and they will drive us up the wall. But we'll love them unconditionally, of course."

"You can't deny my Mum spoiling her grandkids, Lil."

"Well, then we can't spoil them. Spoiling rights go to Dorea. If they want a new broom, under _no_ circumstances can you buy it for them. They'll have to earn it."

"How?"

"Make them… I don't know, clean out the basement or something. Without magic."

"That's just _cruel_, Evans."

"I used to do it all the time!"

"Is that why you're a cruel person now?"

"Watch it. That's your imaginary wife you're talking to."

"Oh, so we get married, do we?"

"Of course. It was a lovely affair. I looked stunning, and by the first dance everyone was in floods of tears. Do you honestly think I'd have all those kids with you and not have some way of keeping you around?"

"Lily, don't be ridiculous. There is no way I'd _ever_ leave once I had you. Not even for a million, zillion Galleons. Not even if I had a wand to my neck. Never, ever."

Lily felt her eyes prick up at the sentiment. "Don't be overdramatic," she chided.

"Oh, I'm not. One hundred per cent serious."

"Really?"

"Honestly!"

"And _why_ is it you would never leave?"

"Well, it's a bit obvious, isn't it?"

"It is?"

"You do anything for someone you love." He was surprised how smoothly and coolly the sentence came out, when his stomach was alive with butterflies and his brain felt slightly numb.

"You – you love me?" She had a hard time wrapping her head around that. He must have been talking about someone else – he didn't like her anymore…

"Well, Merlin, Lily!" He didn't know where all his unabashed confidence came from, but he was grateful for it.

Unable to stop it, a huge grin grew across her face, and all she could do was stare at him and laugh.

"Lil, you could be nicer with the let down. Laughing is just rude. I just –"

"Shh," she hushed, putting her finger to his lips. "Stop talking. You're ruining it."

Slightly muffled from Lily's finger pressed to his lips, he said, "Ruining _what_?"

"Shh! You're ruining the feeling you only read about in stories!"

"Lily, what the bloody hell are you –"

He didn't get to finish, for Lily had taken upon a new way to shut him up. That way being smashing her still-smiling lips to his, only causing her to laugh even more, while he froze, eyes wide.

"Well bloody hell! Kiss me, then!" she said between giggles.

Not being one to argue with her (for once), he did.

* * *

**A/N: **That fluffy enough?

MERRY CHRISTMAS, OR QUANZA, OR HANUKKAH, OR WHATEVER YOU CELEBRATE - AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Lots of festive time lovin',

Ruby


	2. Perfect

**A/N: **Don't mind me, I'm just sitting here trying to find out what the hell I write about most of the time.

**Disclaimer: **blah blah blah I wish I was JKR, she owns everything, Warner Bros made the films which LILY DOESN'T HAVE GREEN EYES IN... yeah, I own zilch.

* * *

There's this girl, Lily Evans. She's the epitome of perfection. She's smart, funny, kind, and knock-you-off-your-feet gorgeous. She's constantly smiling and happy it's almost unreal. She makes the world seem brighter whenever she's near.

Every girl wants to be her, every guy be with her. Including you. But you're not as delusional as the rest of the male population (and some of the female) in this school; you know you don't stand a chance with her. She's so far out of your league, its laughable. You're a troublemaker, a 'problem' child, someone who doesn't take their responsibilities seriously.

You tried to tell yourself this when you were thirteen, when you first started noticing girls. She was the first. But, as usual, your voice of reason was stamped out, and you found yourself staring at her long, wavy red locks, flashes of her pearly white teeth behind soft pink lips, and best of all – her eyes. They're such a vivid green, and stunning. They seem to say a million words – but you can't hear them. Everyone always comments on her cheery smile, but you think they should focus on her eyes. And, you've always seen something in that smile that's confused you. Not to say it isn't a beautiful smile, but you prefer her eyes.

It isn't until your fifteen, after two years of constant staring at and studying, you finally understand what it is about her smile that had got you so unnerved. It's that it's _fake._ It's a completely, one hundred percent, without a doubt, fake. You wonder why it's taken you this long to notice, how no one else in the school notices. But you know why. It's because, unlike you, they don't see her eyes. Those amazing, green, expressive eyes. The smile may say _I'm happy_, but her eyes just say _I'm tired of this_. It's all you can do to not run over to her and ask what's wrong.

It isn't until seventh year, your final year; you have a proper conversation with her. You're the Head Boy, and she the Girl. Your parents were so proud, Sirius teased you, but you can't find it in yourself to look past the fact that you'll be working alongside the girl you find so intriguing.

It's moved past just thinking she was beautiful and liking her for that. Now, you have a need, almost, to find out what she is hiding behind the smile. The eyes tell you a lot, but they don't give up the reasons for her unhappiness.

You're sitting on the couch in the Head Dorm's common room, stroking your cat, Algernon, when she walks in.

While it may not just be about her looks, it doesn't mean she is any less stunning. You momentarily forget about the temperamental cat on your lap. (That is, until he scratches you for not continuing his rhythmic and meticulous petting he was rather enjoying.)

"Hello, Lily Evans, new Head Girl. James Potter, right?" she sticks out her hand, the other holding a lilac trunk, her smile screaming _wow, it's so nice to meet you!_ Her eyes contradict the statement entirely. You try to not feel too upset about this fact.

"Yeah, that's right," you reply after a moment, and stick out your hand that isn't stroking Algernon. You don't want another scratch. "Nice to meet you. This is Algernon, by the way," you motion to your cat after releasing her hand, your skin tingling slightly by the feel of her soft, cold skin. "He can be a bit of a grouch. Don't be too offended if he doesn't like you – he doesn't like most people. Bit like his owner in that way," you joke. She laughs good naturedly, but like her smile, it seems forced.

"Oh, he is _precious_! Aw, aren't you a beautiful boy?" she croons, petting Algernon's head. Instead of hissing like he would do to any other person, he purrs contently, rises from your lap, jumps from the couch and brushes himself against her calves.

"Traitor," you mutter to the ginger cat at her feet.

"If your cat likes me, does that mean you might?" she asks, after picking up said cat, and tickling his belly.

You almost laugh. Might like her?

"Guess I have to. Hate to admit it, but he's a pretty good judge of character." You grin widely at her, which she returns. But, as always, the smile doesn't reach her eyes.

* * *

You learn that she smokes within the first week.

You're trying to go over your Potions text, because you actually want to do well in your NEWTs, but it's hard due to the fact an overweight and extremely hairy cat is vying for your attention. The corners of your book are ripped and tattered thanks to said cat's claws.

You're about to give up and throw Algernon out the window when Lily enters. She looks frantic.

"Have you seen my cigarettes?" she asks as soon as she steps in, not looking at him, instead yanking cushions off of the armchair in her search.

"You smoke?" you ask. You're not sure why it surprises you. You've never seen her light one up around the school, and for some reason it doesn't seem like something she would do. You laugh at yourself, then chide. You don't know Lily Evans, as much as you would like to. And she has every right to smoke if she wants to.

"It's a very closeted affair," she says, moving to the coffee table and rifling through the magazines and texts.

"Nope, sorry." You resist the urge to smile at her state. Even though you know it's foolish, you feel as though you are starting to see the real her.

She looks about ready to rip out her hair.

"Hey, chill," you advise. You pull your wand out from your back pocket. "We do have the powers of magic, remember? _Accio cigarettes_." Several packets, shooting out from several different places, land at your feet. "Take your pick." You say, gesturing to the small pile on the floor.

She looks so relieved. She all but dives to retrieve them from the floor. "You are a life saver," she says, removing a stick and lighting it. She inhales deeply. "Oh, sweet Merlin," she breathes, as the smoke exudes from her nostrils and mouth.

You probably look uncomfortable, because her eyes widen and she looks embarrassed. "Oh, hell, sorry! I'll open a window…"

You hold up a hand. "It's fine. I did spend last year in a dorm with Sirius." Your best friend, and fellow Gryffindor, Sirius Black, is known to be an avid smoker.

She looks at you apprehensively. "And you've never caved?"

"Never said that," you say, shrugging. "I'm just not addicted."

"I'm not _addicted_," she protests.

"Really? How long has it been since the one before that?" you nod to the glowing cigarette in her hand. She taps off the ash into a bowl that previously held your toffee popcorn.

She bites her lip. "Point taken."

* * *

The loosing of cigarettes incident happens quite a few times. Another thing you learn is that she is very forgetful, and often misplaces things. Soon, she isn't just asking for them, but for quills, socks, inkwells, shoes, hair ties, you name it.

"I have the answer to all your problems," you say as a greeting as she stumbles down the spiral stairs that lead to the dorm rooms. She's still pajama clad, rumpled cotton shorts, fuzzy turquoise socks and an oversized hoodie, hair an unruly mane of red, eyes drunk with sleep.

"I highly doubt you do," she replies, and for some reason you get the feeling there is more to that statement than is let on. The thought sends unpleasant shivers down your spine.

You hold up a big, glass bowl for her to see. "See this? This is the 'Lost Things' bowl. You keep all your stuff in here, so you know where it is and don't come yelling at me as to where they have gone."

You place down the 'Lost Things' bowl on the small table, which is situated on the end of the couch, the only other thing occupying it being a lamp. "It's not allowed to leave this table."

She looks at you for a second. Then, she laughs. "You're amazing," she says, and you try to keep from grinning like the idiot you are.

She dumps all of the cigarette packets into the bowl, tosses in all her quills, two full inkwells, and all the hair ties she can find.

"I feel more organized already."

* * *

By your first month, you feel like you know quite a bit about her, and it probably makes you happier than you should really be feeling, but you'll take what you can get.

It's around one in the morning, and you can't sleep. You're tossing and turning and kicking and curling, but you can't sleep. It's impossible. You're getting claustrophobic, the walls are slowly closing in on you, and you need out.

You get up, throwing the duvet off you, and walk out of the admittedly large room that has been making you feel so uncomfortable. It's not the same without Sirius, Remus or Peter. Quieter, yes, but not better. You miss hearing the loud snores of Sirius, the constant tossing of Peter, the kicking of the headboard courtesy of Remus. Without the background noise, it's too quiet.

You head down the spiral stairs, being extra careful and quiet as to not wake up Lily – but you find you don't need to. She's awake, sitting on the armchair she had torn up trying to find her smokes the other week. She's bent over a sheet of parchment, scowling at the thing, and you realize this is the first time you've seen her without a smile plastered on her face. You wonder what the parchment has done that was so bad as to get Lily to let her façade down for more than a second.

"All right, Evans?" you ask as you come into the common room. You don't stop, just head for the little kitchenette at the other end of the room, all thoughts on making yourself a cup of tea.

You have also learnt Lily abhors tea. While you think she is a shameful excuse for a Brit, she complains it is just the poor mans coffee. It is then you learn that, like her smoking, she is addicted to the caffeine. You have learnt to not really engage her in proper conversation until she has had her daily fix, for fear of loosing your head.

"Merlin!" she gasps. Then she focuses on you and her face relaxes. "Scare me, much?"

You wink at her. "Sorry." You don't sound much sorry, even to your own ears.

"What are you doing up?" she asks.

"Couldn't sleep. You?"

"This." She holds up the parchment she had been previously scowling at.

"And 'this' is?" you ask, diverting from you path to get a look at the sheet.

"Transfiguration." She says the word like its personally out to get her, like it's the most evil thing in the world.

You stifle a laugh. "The famous Lily Evans getting worked up over homework?" She has always seemed so capable, so smart, the idea of her struggling with something seems funny to you.

"It's not just any homework!" she protests. "It's Transfiguration! And this is meant to be about bloody conjuring up living things! It's like hell in work form!"

"Amazing metaphors there," you say sarcastically. You hold out your hand. She clutches the sheet to her chest possessively.

"What?" she asks, giving you a guarded look.

An eyebrow is lifted. "I'm giving you some help." You say slowly, probably coming across a bit patronizing too, but you don't really mean to.

"Why?" she asks suspiciously. She is eyeing you like she's worried someone is going to pop out somewhere and yell 'PHYSC!' You don't know why she looks like that. You wonder if you might have offended her with your offer for help. She seems like a very independent girl.

"I might not seem it sometimes, but I can be nice, you see," you tease. You cock your head to the side, nodding at the parchment. "And I believe everyone deserves a decent night's sleep."

Especially yourself. You're tired, and you want a cup of tea and to just get back to sleep, but you know you won't be able to knowing she's down here, awake and struggling with homework. You also know you would feel one hundred percent worse due to the fact Transfiguration is you're best subject, and you still leave her to her own devices.

She still looks reluctant, but passes over the parchment. A majority of the words have been struck through, inkblots are everywhere, and several doodles adorn the margins.

You read what you can, and it isn't terrible. She's missed some minor points when using certain spells, confused some of the wand movements with other spells, but the majors are covered.

"It's not bad," you say. She huffs, which you take as disbelief. "I'm being serious. It's not. You've covered the main uses and problems, which is all you really need to know." You pick up the quill that is resting by an open inkwell, the one you guess she has been using. "Just add this in here," you say as you scribble in some extra information. "Here," another break to jot down something else, "and here." This last part is just to show off. You want to impress her, as shallow as it seems. Once done, you hand the newly edited essay back to her.

"Thanks," she says quietly, reading over the changes you've made.

"No problem." You mean it. You just know anything she wants will never be a problem for you. It's kind of ridiculous, and makes you sound like a complete idiot, but you don't really mind.

You make your tea and return to bed. Sleeping comes a lot easier this time around.

* * *

Hogsmeade comes around, and you want to ask her. But she's got someone else, someone who asked her before, quicker than you. You internally curse yourself.

You find yourself there with a pretty brunette, blue eyed and giggling. She's nice, but she's not who you want to be with. But you smile and act like you're having the time of your life; because it's not this poor girl's fault you're incredibly slow.

Halfway through the date, sitting in the Three Broomsticks, you see her in the booth across the room. You catch her eye, and she sends you a small smile. You pull a face, crossing both your eyes and mimic claws. She rolls her eyes, and then pulls a face back, sucking in her cheeks, pouting her lips like a fish.

Your day is a lot better after that.

* * *

It's nearing the Christmas holidays. You've decided to stay, because you're parents are on an Auror mission, and you'd much rather stay at Hogwarts than in an empty house all by yourself.

A few days before everyone is to leave and lessons to be cancelled, you come back to the dorm, a large breakfast having been just consumed, planning to go over your notes before Arithmancy.

You open the door, and she's curled up in what's now become her armchair, letter in hand, Algernon on her lap, tears streaming down her face.

You feel as though you've just intruded in on something private. As much as you want to find out her reasons for her tears, and ultimately how to stop them, you know you should leave.

When she sees you, her eyes widen in horror, as though you have just caught her in the nude. You really want to leave. You shouldn't be here. "I'm sorry," she says quickly.

You want to laugh. What's she got to be sorry for? "You haven't done anything. Why are you sorry?"

She gestures to her form. "I know it's no fun to walk in on a crying girl. I've had my share of experiences. Six years of sharing a dorm with we've-just-broken-up-hold-me girls does that to you. So, I'm sorry, you should have to see this."

"I'll go hex Diggory if you want," you offer.

"Amos?" she asks, looking confused for a second. Then, when realization hits, she musters a small, watery smile. "No, it's not like that – I think the date was a one-off thing. He's a bit dull. And I don't cry over guys. It's a feminism thing."

"Oh."

Your heart does a lap around your chest at the prospect of her finding him boring. He is, but most girls can't look past the fact he has honey-blonde curls and blue eyes and is captain of the Hufflepuff Qudditch team. The reasonable side of yourself tells the celebrating side to shut up. Just because she finds Diggory boring and undatable doesn't mean she finds you interesting and datable. She probably finds you about as interesting as a Flobberworm, and even less datable than the creature. "Can I help?"

"What?" she sniffs a couple of times, and wipes the red rims of her eyes.

"Can I help?" you repeat. "Anything I can do to ease the waterworks?"

She looks at you. Like, really looks. You feel exposed, those green irises piercing you, scanning and studying, reading you like one of the books she always has her nose buried in.

After a long silence, she speaks. "I just got a letter from my sister. She hates me, by the way, but that's not the problem – well, the main problem. My mum's… My mum's dead. She's killed herself." She takes a deep breath. "She hasn't been right since my dad died. She was shaky before that – he was suffering from a long-term illness, a malfunction in his brain… he was slowly dying, painfully. He was forgetting everything. He didn't remember me, nor Petunia… never forgot her, though." She chokes out a strangled sob. You want to go over to her and hold her, tell her it'll all be okay, but your feet are planted to the ground. You also don't feel like lying to her much. Telling her everything would be okay sounds pathetic, too. "I think it just became too much for her. This would've been her first Christmas without him."

She breaks down completely, and you force yourself to go over to her. You shove Algernon away, who looks alarmed by the sudden sounds Lily is making, and sit on the arm of the chair. A tentative arm is wrapped around her shoulders. She curves her head in to rest it in the crook of your neck, and soon your shirt is soaked. You can't find it in yourself to care, though.

You find yourself speaking in a hushed tone, babbling nonsense about how it's okay; you're here for her, the usual consoling things that are said to someone who is in hysterics.

It's a long time before she stops crying. She slows to sniffles, her breathing regulating, her shoulders no longer convulsing along with the sobs. You continue with the mindless words of comfort nonetheless, continue rubbing up and down on her arm, continue to try to control your reaction to having her this close to you. You never thought she would smell this amazing, but with her head just underneath yours, she's all you can smell. An amazing mix of cinnamon and ginger spice and coffee fills your nose, making coherent sentences a little difficult.

"Thanks," she says after a while.

"You didn't have to tell me," you say, still in that same quiet voice.

"You're right," she agrees, just as softly. "But I wanted to." And for the first time, you see a spark in her eyes.

* * *

Lily stays for the holidays. She's more open with you now, and talks to you about whatever's on her mind.

You're there for her, just like you said you would be. You make her coffees in the morning, you hold her while she cries, and you help her with her Transfiguration and promise to yourself to make sure you never see her as distraught as you saw her that week before.

You buy her a small Christmas present, not because you want to woo her or anything – just to let her know you're there, and not giving up on her.

You know her favourite flower is a daisy, despite her name being Lily, and get her a bracelet with a metal replica of said flower used as the chain links. It's small, nothing flashy, wouldn't stand out in anyway – but it seems to fit her.

On Christmas Eve, you, Sirius, Remus and Peter all have your own celebrations in the Head's Common Room.

You and Lily put up some decorations around the place to get into the spirit of things, but currently a bauble from the tree is being used as a weapon, which is being thrown at Sirius.

Firewhiskey is shared, and soon you are all in various states of inebriation. Moony, who has the tendency to be overly friendly drunk, is snuggling against Padfoot, who is singing a song he seems to be making up on the spot, very loudly. Wormtail, who has never been good with his drink, has passed out on the couch, snoring in harmony with Sirius' improvised song.

You can feel yourself slowly nodding off, a sensation you're not usually used to, since you're generally pretty good at holding down the liquor, but you have had more than usual, so you guess it's excusable. You don't sleep though, because you want to stay awake until Lily returns from wherever she is, so you can give her the present.

She stumbles through the entrance three shots later. She scans the room, just rolling her eyes when she sees you and the rest of the Marauders. You don't think you'll ever get used to the spark in her eyes that she has recently acquired. They dim some during the day, but that just makes it all the more special when they do light up. Also, the fact it's usually for you makes your heart want to burst right out of your chest.

"Merry Christmas," she says as she sits herself down next to you. You hope the smile you send her doesn't tip her off as to _just_ how much alcohol you've consumed.

Her answering laugh probably means you've failed. You can't think all that straight, with the Firewhiskey and added sound of Lily's laugh – a _real_ laugh, not a poor imitation; make your brain turn fuzzy.

"Murry Chrismuss," you slur out. She lets out another bout of laughter.

"Someone's been drinking a bit too much, hey?"

"S'not _that_ much. Looka Sirusss!" Your try to sound indignant, but you mostly come across as tired. You jab a finger in your best mates direction anyway.

She rolls her eyes at the state he's in, and then turns back to you. "I'm very proud of you, James. Only _slightly_ pissed when you could be gone with the wind."

You beam at her, showing off all of your teeth. "I gohue a present!" you say, just remembering your mission for the night. Having her in such close proximity does sometimes clear your mind of all thought, unless said thoughts are of her.

Her eyes twinkle, and you think your heart might burst. "Really? What did you get me, then?"

You hold up a finger, as to say _hold on_. You shift around, and pull out the small jewelry box from your back pocket. You brush off some imaginary lint, and hand it to her. There's a breathtaking smile occupying her face, a stunning gleam in her eyes and she grabs for the box.

"Fort you m'like it," you say as she opens up your gift.

For a second, the smile drops from her face completely, and you panic. What's wrong with it? Did you get it wrong? Did she want some big, flashy, overpriced bangle that caught the light in every which way and shone so bright it temporarily blinded people? (Your mum has a bangle similar.)

"Y'can change it if ya want," you say awkwardly. "I jus fought –"

"Shut up." She says. Her voice sounds strange. Its hitched, like she's trying to stop herself from crying.

You look over to her, and are surprised to find her eyes are filled with tears, and she's delicately biting her bottom lip. She pulls the bracelet out of the box, dangles it out in front of her, and her face breaks out into a grin so wide and bright it rivaled her eyes, which were shining even brighter now, thanks to the soft tears cascading down her rosy cheeks.

"It's perfect," she chokes out, the grin still firmly in place. She hands it to you, then holds out her left arm. You stare at her dumbly, confused as to what she wants you to do. "Put it on me, then, silly!"

With a few choice curses and several failed attempts, you finally get the damn thing clasped around her bony wrist. Without warning, she pulls you into a hug, and your overwhelmed by her; her body pressed up against your own, her arms tight around your neck, your own around her waist, her breaths hitting your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"Thank you," she whispers softly.

You chuckle quietly, and speak, sounding far calmer than what you really feel – which, incidentally, feels like a million heavy-metal loving butterflies mosh-pitting around your stomach. "No prol'm, Lils. Merry Chris'mas."

"Merry Christmas, James."

* * *

She's changing.

The spark that used to be restricted to only you is now always shining in her eyes, her grin always more genuine. And despite feeling that twinge of sadness that she no longer finds her happiness in only you, you're so, so happy for her. Seeing her so alive, it's astonishing.

She no longer just brightens the room as she walks in – she _is_ the source of light. Everything else dims in comparison to her now.

You suppose it was inevitable, in the end. The fact that you find yourself inexplicably, with out a question or doubt, in love with her.

Everything she does makes you feel warm inside, like a little flame has lit itself up in the pit of your stomach, only it doesn't burn as it does make you feel whole.

Before, it was just an attraction. Really, it was hard to _not_ fall for the perfect girl – smart, funny, talented, beautiful and seemingly always happy and alive.

But now, her faults are what makes you smile like a drugged-up idiot. When, even though there is a pack in the 'Lost Things' bowl, she still asks you if you know were her cigarettes are; when she falls asleep in her armchair from late night studying; when she snaps and grumbles at you until there is a mug of coffee in her hand and, despite your constant help, she still moans about Transfiguration like it's the bane of her existence.

And you know its stupid to fall in love with her, because she's still so far out of your league, and you know she only sees you as a friend, but you can't find yourself doing anything about it. Loving her feels natural, feels right.

You don't know what to do with these feelings, but that doesn't matter too much either – simply seeing her makes you feel complete.

And while it may pose as a problem soon, this whole 'being in love with her' deal, you can't find any faults with it at the moment.

"Quit staring at Evans!" Sirius hisses to you during Charms. You can't help it, really, when she's tossing her red locks around like that, laughing that beautiful, hearty sound the way she does.

It's become like this, now. Most of your hours conscious are spent watching her, your unconscious dreaming about her.

"Hell, Prongs, you need to snap out of this." He advises you.  
But you don't want to snap out of it. You're perfectly content with loving her, even if she doesn't return the sentiments. To you, it feels like a privilege to love her, and even more so to have her even give you the time of day, let alone talk to you about everything that's going on with her and her life.

"Shut it, Padfoot."

* * *

"How's the day going, Evans?" you ask as you fall into step with her after leaving Flitwick's class.

She shoots you a wide grin, paired with a bright spark igniting her eyes. "Brilliant! Marlene was just telling me…" she goes into some long-winded description of the admittedly hilarious story.

You can't help but smile at her as she speaks, at how happy she seems, at how comfortable she seems around you.

For the first time since you first realized how you truly feel, you want to tell her. It's a silly desire, and will only end badly for you, but you still want to tell her.

But, valuing your friendship with her too much, you tell that side of yourself to shut up, and continue marveling at her radiance.

* * *

It's the first day of true sunlight and warmth (unlike those awful days were the sun shined brilliantly, but the wind was so strong and bitterly cold it may aswell have been snowing again), since the winter, and you're outside, under the birch tree by the Great Lake, lying down with your head resting on Lily's lap, eyes closed, her hands running through your hair.

You've become a lot closer, physically. Now, much to your pleasure, she doesn't mind when you grab her hand and pull her along with you during rounds, when you drop kisses on her cheek or forehead in the morning as you give her her usual coffee – which you have become skilled at making now, or when you find her leg the most comfortable pillow – like now, for instance.

She's humming a tune under her breath as she continues to dance her fingers across your scalp. It sounds like one of her Muggle records she is so fond of, the same ones she plays late at night when she can't sleep. You can hear a faint clink every now and again, and you just know it's your bracelet you got her moving around her wrist. The thought makes you fill to burst.

A pang you have become ever so familiar with shoots through you once again. You ache to tell her. You honestly don't care if she doesn't feel the same; you just want her to _know_. And while it is probably the most stupid decision of your life, you do.

"I used to like you, you know?" you say, and her humming comes to a halt, her fingers stop their patterns in your hair. You don't wait for a reply, though. "Before I knew you. I used to think you were flawless, the ideal, perfect girl, and all I wanted to do was get to know you." You pause to yawn, and begin again. "Then I did, and everything changed. I learnt things about you I'm pretty sure not many people know, got to know your habits, both bad and good, your likes and dislikes, and… well, then I knew I was wrong. You're not flawless or perfect. But… But to me, well, you are. I love how you can't even manage a thank you in the morning until you've drained your coffee mug, how you always look so guilty when you light up a smoke without opening a window first, then offer me one as if it will make everything okay, and how you eat Jelly Slugs by the dozen – I guess I just love you. And I just thought you should know."

She is silent for a moment, her fingers still frozen in place between tresses of your dark hair, before she takes a deep breath and resumes her work. The same tune starts up, and while it might just be your mind deluding itself, the humming sounds far merrier than before.

* * *

It's as if you haven't admitted it to her yet. And for some strange reason, you're glad. She knows, and now the confession if off your chest, you can breathe properly again. You weren't expecting her to reply with an "I love you too," (as much as you wish she did), so while it still hurts that tiny bit, the fact she doesn't feel the same, you've prepared yourself for it so it doesn't hurt as much as it generally would.

Your main fear was her avoiding you. But, if anything, she's spending more time with you. Your confused, but you don't argue, because the last thing you want is to loose her.

The next week, the last week of March, the twenty-seventh, to be precise, you are awoken by a soft pressing dancing along the back of your shoulders, a notable amount of extra weight pinning your lower back down to the mattress beneath you, and soft whispers of your name being repeated every now and again. At first you think it's a dream, and try your hardest to stay sleeping, for if it is what you think it is – well, your sure dreamland will be far more worthy of your time than the real world.

Unfortunately, your attempts are in vain – you are awake now, and try as you might to go back to sleep, you can't.

"James," the dream voice says again, only now it's clearer, with a hint of impatience.

You murmur something unintelligible in reply. You hope it sounds like _let me sleep_.

"James Charlus Potter, get up right now!" dream Lily snaps, only it sounds more like real Lily, and the weight on your back is becoming more significant, the warmth of an extra body more prominent.

"I'll make you a coffee in a minute," you mumble back. Maybe if you go back to sleep quickly, the dream will return.

"Oh, Merlin, Potter!" there's a shift, like real Lily is actually on you. It's enough to have your eyes wide open, anyway.

"What?" you ask her stupidly, trying to turn your head as to see her, if she's really lying on top of you, was previously dropping kisses along your shoulder blades and the back of your neck. Unfortunately, you are not an owl, so you both fail and look rather pathetic in doing so.

"Oh, good, you're awake." She says dryly. All of a sudden, her face is right in front of yours, her eyes bright and dancing and gleaming and burning, green meeting hazel, only inches apart. You were not expecting this. It's possibly the best birthday present ever.

"Happy birthday," she whispers, as if being in close proximity to you ultimately means lowering your voice. Her mouth is pulled into a wide smile, one that looks so real, so brilliantly, infectiously happy, you can't help but grin along.

"Thanks," you whisper back, also finding it better to just keep quiet. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun, all bumps and lumps and loose hairs falling about her face. She isn't wearing any makeup, has a red spot growing on the side of her nose, her cheeks flushed with rosy pink – you don't think she could have looked more perfect if she had tried.

"I got you a present," she informs, her eyes glinting mischievously. "Only I don't know if it's as good as the one you got me."

Your mind goes blank. "Huh?"

Her hand, which had been residing on the top of your arm, comes flying up, and waves in front of your face. "The bracelet."

A thrill runs through you – you never expected her to keep hold of it for this long. It's only a little thing you picked up at Hogsmeade, it barely cost a galleon, but the way she said it, it was like it was the crown jewels.

"So what's my present then?" you ask her, aiming for flirty but you're sure you sound like a junkie that has just had his high. Her breathy laugh doesn't help matters much.

"Well, like I said before, it's not as good as the one you got me, but I thought – well, its important to _me_, and I've waited _ages_, and I thought, since it involves you and all, I'd tell you today, because good things are meant to happen to you today – because it's your birthday and all, and I was afraid of telling you at first because it's not as if you'd ever shown any interest in me like that, and then you went and told me last week and I wanted to say something but I'm so bloody stubborn and I made my mind up ages ago that I'd tell you today and it just feels _right_, you know?" she said all of this very fast, nearly all in one breath. Her face had marginally heated up, her eyes wide, a hint of doubt and worry in them, her bright smile slightly dimmer.

You blink in confusion. It's early, and your mind is foggy, and all you can really think of is how amazing Lily Evan's lips must feel, for they look so soft and delicate at such a close distance, and how if you were to move you head just slightly you may be able to catch said lips with your own, and the fact you are fairly certain she is currently straddling your waist. Also, the fact she spoke so fleetingly to your generally slow brain didn't help matters.

"Huh?" you repeat.

"James…" she bites her lip, looks at you speculatively, as if you were a complicated puzzle she had to figure out. A small smile grows on her lips, as if she has fit the final piece into place. "James, I… I think I love you. And I think I have been for a while – know I have been. And I wanted to tell you, back when I first realized, but I'm stupid, and selfish, and didn't know –"

You cut her off by doing just what you thought about doing a few moments ago. Moving your head that slight distance, catching her moving lips in your own, and kissing her with everything you have.

This is by far your best birthday ever.

* * *

**A/N: **Did you know it's Christmas Eve and I'm still in the same band shirt I've been wearing since I broke up from school? Yeah. Life rocks like that.


	3. Red

**A/N: **TIS THE SEASON FOR ANGSTY JILY, FA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!

10 guesses what song I was listening to when writing this?

**Disclaimer: **I don't know who made up Deck the Halls, but cred goes to them. I don't know who made the colour red, but cred goes to them. I do know who made Harry Potter, and so do you, so cred goes to them.

* * *

It's the colour of her hair, being tossed over her shoulder, flying about in the winds.

It's the colour of her lips when she pouts because there isn't any treacle tart for desert.

It's the colour that her cheeks turn when you tell her she looks particularly stunning this morning.

It's the colour that flashes around in your mind when you see her off with her boyfriend and your blood begins to boil.

It's the colour that you're filled from head to toe with when she laughs at something you say, when she hugs you before going to bed after a night of rounds.

It's the colour that electrocutes you back to reality once she's ended it with said boyfriend.

It's the colour that you're blinded by when she tells you she ended it with him for you, that she can't think of anyone she'd rather be with.

It's the colour that cackled in the air, filling the atmosphere with heated passion when you first kiss her.

It's the colour that settled over the hushed crowd as she walked up the aisle.

It's the last colour you see before the blinding green.

It's the last flash of her, her shining hair, her tear-stained face, her soft lips crushed to yours, soon screaming your name in choked sobs.

It's red.

* * *

**A/N: **SOBBING MESS UPON THE FLOOR, WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO MEEEE

IT'S MY OWN FAULT FOR SHIPPING JIIIILY!

(it was Red hahahahaaaa I'm so funny)


	4. Tradition

**A/N: **Ha ha yeah I snogged loads of guys under the mistletoe...

**Disclaimer: **Joanne K Rowling owns. Ruby M Wheeler does not.

* * *

James and Lily had a tradition. It wasn't a 'you must do this or die' tradition, just a tradition that started due to a single mishap with a floating, singing, sprig of mistletoe that they both came to thank in years to come.

In first year, a mortified James and even worse off Lily found themselves standing together under a stem of the plant, with it screaming at them to kiss. Their first was a short peck, which left them both avoiding each other for the rest of the holiday.

Second, Sirius thought it would be fully hilarious to embarrass his best friend and make him look like he did last year, so he took it upon himself to shove an unsuspecting Lily Evans into his proximity as the devilish mistletoe came zooming past. Again, an awkward kiss was shared, with Lily still teetering on mortification, James decidedly _less_.

After his failed attempts at making James jealous, Sirius left him to it third year. It was in fact James who went after Lily, and rather relished in her lips on his. He wondered why only with her did he get shivers down his spine and tingling in his toes and a feel of wanting more.

Fourth year, Marlene McKinnon sat with James, scheming and plotting against her own best friend. She was convinced of Lily's secret infatuation with the messy haired boy, and thought it best to use the mistletoe as an excuse for a snog. James had tried to inform her of the many times they had been caught under it, but true to Marlene nature, she ignored him and carried on babbling like he had never even opened his mouth. This year's kiss was slightly longer; much to James's delight, and Lily found herself in the same spot James was last year. Confused, tingling, longing and filled with unexpected wonderment.

Fifth year's kiss was entirely accidental; the two were simply walking on the same corridor when the mistletoe accosted them. It seemed to have taken a liking to the pair. Considering the fact Lily Evans was trying _very_ hard not to fall for the known Gryffindor Heartbreaker, and James Potter was trying _very _hard to get her to fall, this kiss was possibly the most awkward, even worse than the first year. It left them both disappointed, and very much wanting to tear down after the other and change the worst to the best. Neither did.

Sixth year was the year Lily insinuated. She had got over the fact that yes, she did like James, and planned to do good on it. After barely giving the mistletoe time to screech until their lips met, Lily grabbed his tie, pulled him down, and kissed him with nearly everything she had. After the initial shock of having the object of your fancy force themselves upon you, James returned the kiss with just as much vigor. It was probably the best day of his life, he thought after, when she released her hold on him and watched her walk away.

Sixth year's kiss was something neither of them talked about, neither to the other nor anyone else, but thought about most every waking moment.

They had been working together as Head students for four months, and had grown inexplicably closer every day. Unfortunately, this lead James to believe she only liked him as a friend, and 'would much rather have her that way than not at all', and her to find herself even more head-over-heels for the idiot. Once again, the mistletoe sought them out. They were doing rounds, like any other night, James trying to resist the urge to take hold of her hand and pull her close, Lily trying to get him to 'just bloody take her hand', when the berries came floating overhead, looking down at them expectantly.

"Oh, shit." James cursed, glaring at the plant. _Really?_ He thought. _As if it isn't hard enough already?_

The mistletoe only started to build up volume as its shriek began.

"Lets just get this over with, yeah?" Lily asked, trying both to sound non-chalant and to control her butterflies that were rampaging through her stomach. After another furtive glance at the berries, James complied.

The kiss was nothing like any of the other times under the mistletoe. It wasn't shy like first year, half lust half denying like fifth, or pure frustration and expectancy like sixth.

It was sweet, and soft and had just the right amount of emotion behind it, letting the other know they wanted to do this without the mistletoe watching over them. It was far longer than any others they had shared, and much more meaningful. After an age, but felt all too soon for the pair, they stopped and just let themselves stare into the other's eyes, green on hazel, a silent exchange.

"Happy Christmas, Lily," James whispered after a silence.

"Happy Christmas, James," Lily whispered back just as softly, a small smile playing on her lips.

Their first proper kiss, without the mistletoe glaring down on them, was just as shy as their first, as sweet as their last, and as perfect as anything.

* * *

**A/N: **If you actually believed that then like wow I told my mum that I did and she started laughing.


	5. Fighting

**A/N: **I want a mince pie.

**Disclaimer: **Credit to JKR for everything, credit to my mum for making the fabby mince pie I've just eaten.

* * *

It's been several months since they've spoken civilly, and it's tearing her apart. She never even considered she would be this affected by it. But now, after they have been getting on so well… and he just gives up… well, it is what she associates to the equivalent of a broken heart. It's like he's finally realised what she's known all along, that she will never be good enough for him, and it hurts so, _so_ bad. Then all the hurt and pain and everything else she feels for the boy is turned to anger. Anger is good. It's non-committal, it's unfeeling, and it doesn't leave any scars.

Or so she thinks.

Because now, now when all they give each other is the cold glare and odd scathing remark, it's like being cut. A tiny, thin line drawn from a long, sharp knife, which gradually grows deeper and deeper each time they encounter.

Him brushing her off at Head meetings? The knife gently retraces the already bleeding wound.

Him snapping at her when she asks for help with something? The knife gets deeper, and she swears its real and alive or _something_, because it's impossible to be in this much pain without having anything physically wrong with you.

So when she's alone, sitting by the Great Lake, watching the gentle ripples lap up inches from where she is, and searching the sky for notable constellations and stars, she is pretty sure she is sent the death blow when she sees him across the lake, snogging some faceless girl like anything. She honestly thinks it would be less painful if she were on her deathbed.

The gripping at her heart she feels then, that, even though she's known it for a while, he's given up, that hell, he probably never even cared for her, he just wanted her so he could claim to have 'got' every girl in the year, is agony.

She has to _leave_.

Stumbling slightly, she gets up and forces herself to walk away like a regular person, like she's only leaving to give them privacy and couldn't care in the least, not because she thinks she's going to start bawling and clawing at her chest any moment know, because she just _knows_ he's watching her. And he _knows_ what it's doing to her.

Next thing she knows she's sitting up in the Astronomy Tower, legs swinging freely over the edge as she sits, staring out over the grounds, bottle of Firewhiskey in hand, not caring in the least if she was to fall.

She's hurting so much, and it's not fair. She feels so worthless, so inexplicably insignificant. He's given up. The one person she was sure would never hurt her went and did just that, probably without even realizing.

She doesn't know how it's possible to hold this much emotion for one person.

She hates him, hates him _so much_, because he is James Potter, and she'll never be good enough for him. He's chased her, she knows, for the fun of it, and every time he's asked her out, she's always had the voice in the back of her head telling her _yes, just say yes!_ because she knows he's all she really wants, but her self-perseveration side always wins out, knowing its best to save her heart the strain from when he gets bored, and finds a new toy, and issues him the "No."

She loves him, and she knows she does, no matter how much she tells herself she doesn't, and wishes to every higher power and deity that she didn't. Before the cold shoulder, he would make her laugh, even if she was sobbing, he would defend her no matter what, even though he knew she could do it herself. He made her feel special, so amazingly, stunningly, wonderfully special, like she was the most perfect person on the planet, and not just anyone can make a person's legs turn to jelly like he can make hers.

She's angry with him, so much so she just wants to smash his stupid, beautiful face into a wall, then push him up against it and just _snog_ him. That's the main reason why she's angry. She doesn't like these feelings, not one bit. Self-preservation Lily is the one causing the anger. Because really, what right did he have, making her feel so shitty that she honestly didn't give a _fuck_ if she fell to her death right now?

Footsteps started to echo up into the circular tower. She wasn't bothered by it, she was pretty sure it was simply a couple that had come up here to shag, and would no doubt recognize her by hair – most people usually did – and go find someplace else to procreate. Getting on the bad side of the Head Girl was something most people could not get away with these days.

The footsteps seemed to be singular, but she hadn't ruled out the fact that one may be carrying the other. Oh, how delightfully romantic that would be.

She silently wishes the holder to loose their footing and fall down the stairs, effectively causing both of the lustful couples' untimely death.

No such luck. The footsteps reached her a few seconds later. However, they didn't turn and find a new home, like she was expecting.

"Head Girl," she mumbles, and hiccups after. _Classy_, she thinks. "Go fuck somewhere else." She lifts the hand that isn't holding her rather large bottle, and waves it vaguely above her head. She isn't in the mood to even give the bloody couple a glance.

Instead of walking away and cursing, like she had sorely hoped, the footsteps begin again, this time towards her. Seconds later, they join her, and he sat down, legs swinging the same way hers currently were.

"Any chance I can get a swig?" he asks, nodding to the bottle she was now gripping tightly, causing her knuckles to go white.

"Get you own," she snaps, throwing her head back and taking a generous swig.

He shrugs, she sees, out of the corner of her eye. She hoped that ignoring him might make him leave.

"Lily-" he begins.

"Save it," she cuts him off. "This may come as a shock to you, Potter, but I don't give two shits about what you have to say." It's almost the truth. She didn't give a shit unless the he was apologizing profusely for making her feel this way, for snogging whoever she was, for everything, and then promising her it won't happen again, that he can make it better.

She still hasn't looked at him.

"Um…" he hums, obviously sensing she wasn't joking. "I don't know what to say." He admits after a few agonising seconds.

"Well then, if you'd be so kind, _leave._"

He didn't move.

She still stonily ignores him, her eyes focused on the clear skies, the illuminated crescent gleaming in the sky, the stars paling slightly in comparison.

A few swigs later, and he tries again.

"Lily," he says, this time with much more depth, his voice soft and filled with something she can't quite put her finger on.

She exhales heavily. "Why won't you _leave_?" She makes the mistake of turning to him. Her heart, already under enough strain, finally gives out and shatters. He's watching her, his hazel irises boring into her, aglow with some unidentified feeling that she's sure she doesn't want to figure out, and he's close, far too close.

"Just let me talk, okay?" he snaps.

Her eyes narrow, but her stomach dances with ridiculous butterflies, and her heart, still in tiny pieces, slowly tumble down to join the butterflies. She hopes it will cut their party short.

"I –" he flickers his gaze away from her, and glares out to the trees of the Forbidden Forest. "What's your problem?" he asks finally.

"_My _problem?" she repeats incredulously. "I'm not the one who all of a sudden, with no warning, ignores the other!"

He returns his eyesight to her.

"That's not what I meant."

"I don't have time for your riddles, Potter. Either tell me, or do one. Not sure I own the patience right now."

"My _name_ is James."

"I really don't have time for this," she rises slowly, gripping onto the metal poles that served as a railing to hoist herself up, as to not fall to her splattered and gory end, despite thinking about it before.

"Sit down." He orders.

"Since when can you tell me what to do?" she yells, turning on him and giving in to the cold-blooded fury she hadn't done a good job of keeping secret.

He rises too, quicker than she. "I'm_ trying_ to talk to you!"

"I _don't _want to listen! Why can't you just accept the fact that you can't just waltz up here, say a few stupid, meaningless words and make it better? Because you _can't_! You can't, you can't, you can't! It doesn't _work_ like that!"

"What doesn't work like that?"

"Everything! Do you think wars were solved by empty words? No! They were solved because those words held significance, held meaning, and weren't used lightly!"

"So that's what we're in then?" he asks coldly. "A _war_?"

"Outside, yes!" she shrieks. "Outside of these walls, a war is raging on. People are _dying_. The world keeps turning, even while we may seem absent."

"I don't care about that. I care about _now_. What's going on – _here_."

"Nothing! Nothing is happening, nothing's happened, and nothing _will_ happen!" it was with all the conviction she could muster that she adds the last one. Because nothing would happen, and she knew. As much as it pained her to say it, she knew nothing would ever happen.

He looks at her, then. Really looks at her, and all she can see is the unmistakable flash of pain that overwhelms his lovely features. She doesn't know why, she knew what she said was the truth, but she still wants to take back her last sentence, just to remove that look in his eye that makes her already shattered and sinking heart drop further.

"I – I'm sorry…"

"No –" his face twists slightly. She doesn't think he knows what to say. "Nothing to be sorry for."

"Ah… Fine." She's shrugging, walking away again.

He falters for a moment, and reaches out a hand after her, but she's turned, and can't see his advances.

"Lil," he calls, his voice dejected and somewhat broken.

"Just stop it!" she screams, twirling around to face him in a matter of seconds. "Just _stop _it!" her eyes are shining with tears, and she wishes them away with everything she has. Him seeing her cry isn't something she is all too comfortable with. "Stop it, stop it, _stop it_!"

He's confused, and she knows it, and it makes her all the angrier. Can't the bastard see what this is doing to her?

"Stop… what?"

"THIS!" she waves her arms madly in the space between the two, and despite her best efforts at stifling them, tiny tears are rolling down her flushed cheeks.

He notices the tears.

"Lil – god damn, don't cry, shit…" He leans in to hold her, and she snaps entirely.

"No! NO! Fuck off, Potter! Get the hell away from me!" she's kicking and punching and clawing at every part of his body she can.

"What have I done that's so bad?" he asks, his voice notably louder, a strain in it she hasn't heard before.

"Oh, I'm sure I could make a lengthily list," she laughs bitterly. "Why the fuck did you even come up here?"

"To see if you were okay, believe it or not!"

"I'm _sure_," she replies snidely.

"You may hate me, Lily, but I certainly don't hate you!"

"Could've fooled me, you bastard!" Why is he saying this? He obviously hates her. She knows it, and she doesn't know why he won't just admit it to her. It would be a whole lot easier on her if he would.

"Well I'm sorry for trying to make you happy!"

"Shu – what?" that caught her off guard. Of all the things she was expecting, that _certainly_ wasn't it.

"Don't act so shocked," he snaps. "I know you generally loathe my existence, and I know you hated having to be civil with me."

"_What_?" she asks again, her confusion overriding her anger.

"Don't play dumb!" he yells, his eyes narrowing at her. She flinches slightly. "Even a bloody _fool_ could pick up your obvious distain. You didn't even bother to hide it!"

She looks at him now, general confusion and puzzlement evident on her face. She's so confused. She generally, no word of a lie, swear to Merlin and on her own life, _loved_ spending time with him. He was stupid, but witty, which made her laugh. He was caring and friendly, and made her heart skip slightly, which while she was embarrassed about generally, actually reveled in the feeling because _no one_ else made her feel like that.

He's just glaring at her now. Out and out frustration and something else, the same as before, the look she doesn't want to name, lingering in his molten hazel eyes.

"I – I'm not too sure what you have in your head, Potter, but these last few months have been anything but _enjoyable_ for me."

Now it was his turn to round on her. "Don't," he says coldly. "Don't you think you've done enough?"

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just stating the facts."

"For fuck's sake, Potter! Either tell me what you want, or mean, or _whatever_, just stop with the fucking riddles!"

"Fine," he spits out. "I'll tell you _what_. You're a cruel, ruthless, twisted, selfish and evil bitch, that's what!"

That takes her by surprise. She's overwhelmed with the sudden wave of emotion that speech brought on, and she felt her eyes prick up with tears once again. It was harder to control this time, because she had just stopped her running eyes, so she turned all of the sudden emotion she felt from his confession into anger.

"_What_?!" she screams at him. "What the hell have I ever done to you to deserve that?"

"You know full well!"

"News flash, Potter, we can't all be genius like you," she remarks sarcastically. "I haven't done anything to you! I don't deserve to be called that, you arsehole!" It was true. In her head, she couldn't think of anything she had done that would hurt him. She had called him a twat before he stopped talking to her after he threw some parchment at her to get her attention… but it was jokingly, and she called him much worse things, and he never got offended.

"Okay then, what do you call staying up all night with me in the Head Dorms, for no other reason than to just talk to me – don't give me that look, you bloody admitted it! – then the next morning walk down to breakfast with me, then shove your tongue down Diggory's throat?!"

She went red in the face. She remembered that morning _very _clearly. It was around the first week she was fed up of dropping hints – they were _blatantly _obvious – and had forced herself to admit he was over her, like he said he was. And while she knew it was horrible, she just wanted to get over him, and well… Amos Diggory had never been… _unwilling_ to keep her company.

"That's – That's nothing to do with you! I am at a liberty to snog whoever I like, whenever I like!"

"Yes, you are, but Lil, it's the _way_ you did it! You purposely give a bloke hope, and then go and shag some other guy!"

"Not as if you care if I shagged Amos or not!"

He pauses for a moment. "You – You didn't, did you?"

"It's none of your business whether I did or didn't," she snaps haughtily.

She wasn't proud of it, but a couple of weeks later, after seeing James with someone else, she had grabbed a Firewhiskey, found Amos and… tried to get over her jealousy. The poor boy practically tripped over himself with eagerness.

"That just proves it then." He replies in a resigned tone.

"Proves what?"

"You don't give two fucks about me, or him, or anyone but yourself."

"Who are you to decide how I feel about him?"

He was right though. She honestly didn't care one bit for the boy. He was pompous, arrogant, and after she had slept with him, he had started to get far to grabby with her in public, the thing that had spurred her on to end it with him. What he was wrong about was how he said she didn't care for _him_. Merlin only knew how much she wished she didn't.

"Please, Lily, don't even try it." He remarks snidely.

"So you're calling me a slag, then?"

"I didn't say that!"

"But you were implying it!"

"I just don't understand how you can go from admitting to a guy you _know_ is fucking mad about you that you love spending time with them, purposely make them think they have a goddamn chance, then do – that!"

"Who, pray tell, is this person then? I may be all of what you claimed me to be, but I'd _never_ –" Her eyes, once narrowed, open wide, emerald green shining like stars from the light of the moon. "You – you mean…"

"Buggering hell, Evans! Why the fuck are you so blind?!"

"You said you didn't – you said you stopped! What was I supposed to think?"

"Hell, I was lying!"

"Why?!"

"Have a guess!"

"Because you wanted to make me feel like the smallest, most insignificant and worthless person to ever walk this planet?!"

"Be – What?" his clouded eyes snap back to focus.

They seem slightly watery, and Lily wonders if he was about to cry. Much like what she was doing now.

"Lily, are you _crying_?" She knows why he has reason to be shocked. Lily doesn't cry often, only when she's insanely sad. And she had done it _twice_ in one night.

"No, it's bloody raining on my face!" she yells. "What the hell is your problem?! You just give up on me when we're so close? You know how awful that makes someone feel? Like, now you've got to know them, you've seen past their looks and body, and you've realized that they aren't all what you thought they were… It makes a person feel like a pile of shit." She was sobbing now, loud and choking, and she just wanted him to hold her, because she felt so _safe_ in his arms, and so she could get a better shot to slap him.

"Lily – oh Merlin, please stop crying! – I'm sorry, okay? I thought that was what you wanted… I didn't realize – fuck!"

"What? Didn't know I cared about you? Didn't know it _killed _me when I saw you off with that Ravenclaw girl? Didn't know –"

"You didn't say anything!"

"That's what we do! That's what girls do! They shamelessly flirt but will never tell a guy how they feel!"

"I thought…"

"Thought what?"

"I thought you were messing with me!"

She inhales sharply, trying to stifle her tears and hitching breaths. "You – you really thought that _low _of me?"

"Well what the fuck did you expect me to think?" He's yelling again. "I spent the whole of sixth year listening to you, saying that we were '_just friends_'…"

"Because that's what you told me you wanted! You told me you were over it! You told me you just wanted to be friends!"

"And I did!"

"Why?"

"Because having you as a friend is better than nothing!"

"Doesn't seem to be the case now! You're the one who stopped it!"

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to see you with someone else?"

"Says the one who went round with a new bird every week!"

"I didn't think you'd care!"

"Exactly, you _didn't_ think!"

"You didn't make it easy to tell!"

"Oh, so getting to help me in Transfiguration, doing it purposely wrong so you'd wrap your arms around me and guide me, rolling up my skirt that extra few inches and wearing those socks so you'd look… Didn't make it easy, did you say?"

His face flushes.

She mistakes the embarrassed color of his cheeks as anger. "No, you don't get to be the angry one in this! You know how you made me feel? I was sitting there," she yells, jabbing her finger at her previous seat, "after watching you over at the lake," his face grew even hotter, "and I honestly couldn't have cared less if I'd fallen. I felt like such a bloody worthless piece of trash! You gave up on me, because I have baggage. I'm not just the angry redhead who's an easy shag! I'm a person, with feelings! And I trusted you with stuff I don't tell people about, like my dad and sister! And you _threw it back in my face_," she spits the last words out, her still streaming eyes filled with pain, and anger and such sadness.

"Lily –" his voice was so broken, she could have sworn he was trying to hold back sobs like she was.

"Just stay away from me," she says, her voice shaking.

"No, Lily, please listen to me –"

"WHY?" she explodes. "Why should I? You don't care about me! You can't make this better, despite what you may believe. _The damage is done_."

"You can't honestly believe that!"

"What? That this is it? Potter, I've believed that since Christmas last year!"

"No, not that! You can't believe that I don't care!"

"You haven't given me reason to!"

"Well how about this? I goddamn love you, and would do fucking _anything _for you! I tried to control myself, because I thought you didn't feel the same way, and I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable, but its so hard! You're just there, all bloody beautiful and funny and perfect and shit, and the only way I can stop myself is if I'm not near you! And while I'm sitting there thinking I've made you happy, I have also just given up on myself completely, because I'm _so_ in love with you, and it hurts _so bad_ to not be near you, and I just can't find anything left to care about! You're my everything, Lily. You're all I care about."

Lily's mouth hangs open in a perfect little 'O', her cheeks a brilliant scarlet, her heart pounding in her ears.

She finds herself moving, without really sending the signals to her feet to move, but she was glad they were, anyway. James wasn't facing her anymore; he had turned to glare out to the Hogwarts grounds once more.

Slowly, she lifts her hand to stroke his cheek. His head snaps down to hers, eyes meeting, green on hazel, both filled with such intensity.

"I love you too," she whispers, and closes the gap between them.

And that night went from being one of the worst of Lily's existence, to the best.

* * *

**A/N: **Wooh for fighting!


	6. Sparks

**A/N: **Is it weird this was written while listening to Tim McGraw?

**Disclaimer: **JKR and Taylor Swift own, then there's me sitting there in my pyjamas writing nonsensical rubbish.

* * *

It was late, and it was cold, but basking in the warmth of the other was enough.

Soft hands trailed burning patterns over delicate skin, eyes gleaming brighter than the stars decorating the night sky.

Faded blue jeans were traded for little black dresses, which were soon stripped off under the blanket of darkness.

Favourite songs were blaring from old car stereos, soon to be the song that took both of them back to this very place.

Languid kisses were shared; light dustings of lips pressed against bare skin, setting the planets of their own world alight.

Moments like these were what both cherished – her releasing herself from her cage of self-control, him having the pleasure of being the reason for this change in nature.

Dress shirts that so wanted to leave overheated bodies were granted permission to fly, high heels under the strain of holding up weak-kneed bodies were torn and left to find more suitable feet.

Ties, socks, necklaces and pants were divulged of willing persons, and the chill was stronger now, but lust-clouded minds barely registered the change.

Red hair in tight buns, coated in diamonds and pearl pins was freed, letting the luxurious locks tumble around freckle-painted shoulders.

Glasses allowing to see this magnificent sight occurring were soon ditched, causing too much of a problem when significantly heated kisses were trying to find purchase on tan faces.

Heat, sweat, love and passion exploded like fireworks around closely pressed bodies, growing more frantic with every shower of sparkles.

Not with a fizz or a crackle or a spark did the final show go out.

Rainbows off sheer ecstasy flew, sparking and igniting and exploding and setting their private universes alight in a golden blaze.

All that mattered was the other, crystalline beads trailing down steaming bodies, their aura glowing with pure love.

It was moments like these, where the world shifted on its axis, the atmosphere changed, the planets ceased to orbit, all because of these two ordinary people could be so in love.

* * *

**A/N: **I need to start writing things longer than one hundred words.


	7. Poem

**A/N: **I was in the mood to write poetry. If you can call this poetry.

**Disclaimer: **James and Lily belong to JKR. Drops of Jupiter belongs to Train. I own a mac and a brain (even if it is tiny and incapable of remembering anything unless it's sprawled up my arm in black ink.)

* * *

He's the planets,

the stars,

the skies,

The clouds,

the winds,

the sun's rise.

She's the ground,

the seasons,

the grass,

The flowers,

the trees,

the river's pass.

Pluto-black hair,

Venus hazel eyes,

and all the recklessness of a shooting star.

Hair of an autumn leaf,

sea green eyes,

and all the control of a subtle spring night.

He wanted to dance on the last light of day,

_With her at his side._

She wanted to curl up under woolen blankets,

_With him at her side._

He wanted to fly and soar

and glide and roar

She wanted to walk and run

and sing and have fun

(He wanted to have fun, too.

Just not the way she did.)

(She thought he was being ridiculous.

But it was okay, because **she loved him**.

Just don't tell him that.)

(He thought she was being ridiculous, too.

But it was okay, because **he loved her**, too.

Just don't tell her that.)

"If I fle y,

all the way to _Mars_ –

It's red like your hair.

But if I flew,

And never came back

_ever_

would you miss me?"

"Why would you want

to fly away?

The ground is _lovely_.

It's always here

and it won't ever leave

and it will always catch you."

(She would miss him.

Probably too much.)

(He would miss her.

Probably too much.)

"I don't like the ground.

It's _too_ reliable.

I like

Not

**Knowing**

Where

I'm

**Going**.

It's all part of the_ thrill_.

If you'll fall or fly."

"Well that's _stupid_."

"Well that's the _truth_."

"How will you fly?

You have no wings."

"That's where you come in.

You'll be

my wings."

"I don't want to fly.

You

_can't_

make

me."

"Don't you ever feel

the **NEED**

to leave?"

"Never.

Never ever.

Never ever _ever_."

"What if

you took my hand

and we flew away

together?"

"What if

you took my hand

and we run away

together?"

"It's not the

_same_."

"It's not the

_same_."

"Why don't you

like the stars?

They shine

like your eyes.

And burn with

Power

and

Intensity

which your eyes do

when you're passionate

about things."

"Why don't you

like the trees?

They stand TALL

and proud

like you.

And live

to

tell legends

which you will do

someday.

I think."

"Trees are so

_placid_.

I don't stay

in one place to g.

Trees

spend their

WHOLE

lives

in one place."

"Stars are so

_powerful._

I don't burn

or bring light

or heat

wherever I go.

Stars

do that

_all_

the time."

"That's not true.

You bring

light

and

warmth

and

everything else

wherever you're near

_me_."

"That's not true.

You stay

in one place

when I'm there.

You stay

with _me_

sometimes."

"I stay

because

_you're_

there.

Anywhere

is worth staying

if _you're_ there."

"I bring

light

and

warmth

and

everything else

because

_you're_

there.

Coming out

of my (shell)

is worth it

if _you're_

around."

"I'll

tell you

what.

Why don't

we

make a **deal**?

Every su e

and set

where

the earth

meets

the sky

you'll leave the

ground

and

I'll leave the

**sky**

and

we can _dance_

on the last light of day

or_ curl up_

in woolen blankets

or do anything

as long as the other

is there."

"**Deal**.

As

l o n g

as

_you're_

there."

"Deal.

I'll

_always_

be there."

* * *

**A/N: **Yeah, I don't know either.


	8. Secret Santa

**A/N: **Because James being Lily's Secret Santa was entirely necessary.

**Disclaimer: **A Miss Joanne K. Rowling sat on a train one day, with thoughts of a young bespectacled boy who studied magic... Yeah, so everything is hers because shE THOUGHT OF IT ON A TRAIN. I'm not that creative.

* * *

**01/12/79**

_Dear Lily,  
__Looking forward to Christmas? You might be wondering who I am. If I were you, I'd be wondering too. But, unfortunately, I cannot divulge that secret. My identity must be kept mum, and that is due to the fact I am your Secret Santa! So, I shall write to you once every day, and maybe drop off a present or two, until the actual day comes, were I shall be revealed and you can thank me for making your Christmas build up so fabulous._

Dear Mr/Mrs Who-Ever-You-Are,  
I didn't know I had signed up for a Secret Santa. I didn't even know the school _did_ one. Do I have to write to someone too? I hope not. I'm very easy to spot when writing. Aside from the fact my hand is so distinct, also my wording. It's very easy to tell that this is Lily Evans speaking, isn't it?  
Anyway, no, sorry, Secret Santa, I am _not_ looking forward to Christmas. Call me a Scrooge, but I am not looking forward to three weeks of non-stop Christmas tunes and flashing lights and bloody merriment.  
On that wonderfully cheerful note, I bid you farewell.  
-Lily

**02/12/79**

_Oh, well, that was rather morbid, don't you think?  
__Don't worry; I'm here to relieve you of that suffering. Think of me as your saviour. Also, I want to ask what a Scrooge is. I'm guessing it has something to do with not looking forward to the upcoming holiday, but I thought I should ask just to be sure. And no, you don't have to do anything about this Secret Santa business, nor does the school _actually_ do it. This is just out of the kindness of my heart.  
__Until next time,  
__-SS_

I am a rather morbid person, if you must know. And thanks to the _savior_ description, all I can picture is a faceless man on a white stallion in shiny armor. I guess you don't know what that 'Prince Charming' image stands for either, though, do you? Since you don't know what Scrooge is, I am going for the fact you are a pureblood. Not that blood status makes a difference, or anything. And yes, you are correct, Scrooge is a character from a famous novel called '_A Christmas Carol'_, and he generally despises Christmas and wants lots of money, until he is visited by the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future… It's a rather good book. You should read it some time.  
Also… Are we close? Is that why you plan to make my holiday build up amazing? (If this is Marlene, you don't have to do this. Just buy me some Jelly Slugs and let me eat my breakfast in peace. Seeing you and Sirius swap saliva is enough to make the contents of my stomach return.)  
-Lily

**03/12/79**

_No, I am not McKinnon, and yes, you make a wonderful point. PDA to the max. I have taken it upon myself to rise earlier so I don't have to witness it, and get to eat the most important meal of the day in the comforts that I will not see tongue and spit when I want to see eggs and bacon. I enjoy my food. And yes, you are correct on both – I am a pureblood, and no, I have no idea what this 'Prince Charming' is. But stay with the image of a handsome man on a horse, riding in to sweep you off your feet. That sounds like an apt description of me.  
__I don't really know what to call our relationship, so I shall put it down to casual acquaintances.  
__-SS_

Glad you agree. We should – along with the rest of the students that enjoy peaceful breakfasting – join as a unit and ban them from snogging. It leaves far to little to the imagination, and thanks to it I have seen a lot more of my best friend than I would like to. I would join you in the early rising, if it were not for the fact mornings (along with Transfiguration) are the bane of my existence. Sleep over food, any day. Did I really just write that?  
Also, you're awfully full of yourself, aren't you? Handsome and heroic. Not that I mind. If you do look like how I've pictured you in my head, I have no qualms about you sweeping me off of my feet. You are a guy, aren't you? This would be incredibly awkward if it wasn't.  
Are you sure we aren't friends? You seem like the sort of person I'd actually like to spend time with.  
-Lily

**04/12/79**

_While a comment like that would usually have me up the walls and dancing around hallways, I'm going to ignore it, for you still don't know who I am, therefore can't decide if you like me or not.  
__And don't picture me too handsome. While I'm sure I will be able to live up to your standards (I hope), please don't set them to high. I am rather heroic, though; so don't worry about overdoing it on the heroism. I'm sure I will surpass. Heroism just comes naturally to me, it seems. Also, don't worry your pretty, little, ginger head. I am a guy, as you so eloquently put it. One hundred per cent male. And I do agree, if I were a girl these exchanges would be incredibly awkward.  
__-SS_

As I've said before… Awfully full of yourself, aren't you?  
Can I give you a code name? SS sounds like a ship, and Prince Charming is all too fairytale. How about… It'll come to me later. I can't think. It's all this homework McGonagall assigned. As I've said before, Transfiguration is the bane of my sorry existence.  
And I'll have you know I'm _red_, not _ginger_.  
-Lily  
P.S. You think I'm pretty?

**05/12/79**

_That is a lie and a half and you know it. You are as ginger as the day is long. And of course I find you pretty. Try and find me one guy in this school that doesn't. __And code name… I like your style. Something about it makes this seem terribly 'torrid love affair', though. I had a list, in fact, after receiving your reply. Asked one of my mates what he thought and if he would right some down that he thought were good. Now, half my list is filled with Mr. Big Dick, or something along those lines. Sometimes it seems I am the only mature one out of my mates. Anyhow, call me Algernon. Or Elvendork. Take your pick. I've always wanted a cat named Algernon, you know? And to call my first born Elvendork. Unisex, keep it in mind.  
__-Your choice_

Thinking it over, it does, doesn't it? "_Torrid love affair"…_ I'll have to talk to my non-existent boyfriend about this. I don't think he'll be too happy. Big bloke, totally ripped. Even your imaginary form couldn't take him. And once again, I object. Ginger states to be and orangey, browny, blondey mix. I am a pure red. No blonde, no brown, no _orange_. RED. Also… Honestly? _Elvendork_? Do you _want_ your child to be the laughing stock of the school? I'm going with Lancelot. It seems you have a fetish for Medieval names, so don't get huffy about my change. Algernon, because if you do end up with that cat, its just going to be strange and confusing… and not Elvendork, because I can't even look at that name without feeling sorry for your future children.  
-Lily

**06/12/79**

_Oh, so if you won't name our child Elvendork, what do you suggest? Doubt it's a unisex name, like _mine_ is.  
__Lancelot, huh? Sounds ever so fancy. I feel like one of those giant ponces, riding around on a unicorn, blindingly bleach blonde hair, blue eyes, annoyingly bright grin, spreading rainbows and cheer wherever I go. (If I don't reply within the designated time, its because I have asked said best mate from letter before to Avadra me. Doubt the others would do the honors.)  
__And don't worry about your imaginary man and me. I can take him. Just a quick grin with my immaculately white teeth, and he'll be forever blinded. Then my unicorn can stab the shit out of him with his horn.  
__-Lancelot, the Unicorn Rider, Bright Smile-er, Imaginary Boyfriend Slayer_

Our child, hm? When did it turn into that? Though, by the description you've given me, I hope the kid gets my looks. I don't want them being confused with Medusa, thanks to the smile.  
Can't say that's how I imagined you, though. Tall, dark and handsome, more like. Tall enough that your chin could rest on my head when we hugged. Amazing, dark hair that I could run my fingers through. Great body, loads of muscle – though not as much as imaginary boyfriend. To be honest, a lot of muscle grosses both boyfriendless and boyfriended Lily Evans.  
Even if you don't look like that, indulge me and tell me you do. I need something to hold on to and think of at night.  
-Lily  
P.S. Please don't off yourself. I've come to find I really do enjoy receiving these notes everyday.

_Merlin, Evans. You don't half know how to get a man hot and bothered.  
__-Lancelot, the Hot and Bothered.  
__P.S. I'm not even saying this to indulge you, but you've pretty much got me spot on – but I'm not too sure about the height. We've never exactly been in that kind of embrace before, and if we have I've probably been pinching myself just to make sure it wasn't a dream._

Breaking the rules, much? One note everyday, Lancelot.  
-Lily  
P.S. That's probably one of the sweetest things I've ever read.

_I try._

**07/12/79**

_Ever so sorry for my lack of control. I do like writing to you, if you must know. You're rather funny for a Head Girl. Surprised you can read this, though. My writings awful, and I know it. So do all the professors, it seems, as I am always asked to rewrite any particularly atrociously sprawled essays.  
__Also – treacle tart. Just thought you might want to know. Be the first to dinner, I know you love it, and I know you get amazingly pissed off when there's none/not enough left. Speaking of getting pissed off, something I forgot to mention in yesterdays various note, I find myself quite liking the fact I can wind you up. Awfully touchy on the hair subject, are you not? So in denial of your own ginger-ness…  
__-Lancelot, the Sickly Desert Bringer_

You do know that as soon as you give away your identity I am all but going to jump your bones? That was the most amazing dinner I've ever eaten. Seriously. Better than the welcome feast. Nothing but lovely, syrupy, sticky treacle tart. Nothing beats it. Not even Jelly Slugs, and that's saying something, because I love Jelly Slugs… Though something tells me you knew that. Just like how you knew I have an unhealthy obsession with treacle tart. And I only get touchy when I am called a ginger, whilst I am so _blatantly _a redhead. _Red_head.  
-Lily

_Stop it, Evans. I nearly gave myself up thanks to that bloody first line. I don't think you realize just what effect you have.  
__-Lancelot, the Shameful (because he nearly gave himself up, but he didn't, thankfully, so he is still Lancelot, the Tall, Dark and Handsome that infiltrates your unconscious. I like that title a lot more than the other.)_

Me too.

**08/12/79**

_Ginger,  
__How's the day going? Well done in Charms, by the way. But really… 'Only one who could do it', my ass. I was so close! Alas, I guess I shall never come close to your brilliance… And the fact you have Flitwick wrapped around your pinky finger, don't think I don't know._

_-Lancelot, the Guy Who is on to You and Flitwick, and Knows of Your Secret Love Affair_

Gasp! I'm a terrible imaginary girlfriend, aren't I? My imaginary boyfriend has to deal with me cheating on him for a two foot tall Professor and our conversing. I need to brush up on my relationship skills.  
Plus – sorry, but I can't help my brilliance. At least you know you'll never come close. And thank you. Not just for the compliment, but now I think I have an idea of who you are. Male, Tall Dark and Handsome (or so you say), smart, a Gryffindor/Ravenclaw… And have very inventive ways of giving me these notes. Today's was original. Nice Transfiguration work there.

-Lily

_That's an awfully complimentary list...  
__-Lancelot, the Guy Who is Drowning in Compliments From Lily Evans_

Don't get used to it. And I forgot to add annoying, conceited and randy.  
-Lily

_You don't even know who I am! How can you know if I'm annoying, conceited and randy? This might all be a sham, and I'm really Stebbins, working from the inside, trying to get into the mind of a Head Girl. (Lets face it – it's the only way he's ever going to get _into_ a girl…)  
__-Lancelot, the Could Be Derek Stebbins_

I'm honestly not even going to bother.  
-Lily  
P.S. Add rude to aforementioned list.

**09/12/79**

_I know you found that last note funny, Evans. Don't act as though you weren't grinning from ear to ear and trying to stifle your laughter.  
__Anyway, if I was wrong, have a Jelly Slug. As an apology, and also because it has been a week and a half and I haven't showered you with pre-Christmas gifts. So this is a first gift. Enjoy._

_-Lancelot, the Jelly Slug Giver_

I am neither going to confirm nor deny said accusations. Jelly Slug was lovely though.  
-Lily

**10/12/79**

_How's my favourite ginger doing?  
__-Lancelot, the Wants to Know How You're Doing_

Bit late to write, isn't it? I'm fine, missed your notes today though, as much as I'd hate to admit it. I was just about to turn in, actually.  
-Lily  
P.S. _Redheaddd_, she sings.

_Ever so sorry my dear. Nice to know you appreciate the effort I'm putting in, though. Quidditch, if you must know.  
__-Lancelot, the Quidditch Player  
__P.S. Gingerrrr__, he sings._

You're on your house team?  
-Lily

_Never said that. But, as my house pride simply wont allow me to deny I am on it, I have to give in and say yes, I am on my house's team. The best in the league, naturally.  
__-Lancelot, the One Who is Floored by House Pride_

I suffer from the same. So therefore, you are wrong. Gryffindor is simply the best, consequently making your team _not_. That is, unless you are in Gryffindor. Then you'd be right. What position?  
-Lily

_Bit forward there, Evans. If you really want to know, just meet me in the fifth floor broom cupboard..._

In your dreams, maybe. Let me rephrase that. What position _IN_ _QUIDDITCH_ do you play?

_Oh, most definitely. You star in my dreams quite frequently, if you must know. And Chaser. Best in the school, of course._

I'm sure. I'm off to bed now, and _no_ you may not join. I say that now, yet you'll probably end up in my dreams anyway. So whether I like it or not (and usually I do), you'll be in my bed one way or another.

_Evans, do you want me to die an early death?_

**11/12/79**

_Out of the sheer goodness of my heart, and the fact I hated seeing you look so lost in Transfiguration class today, I've attached my notes and any other knowledge I have on Animagi. Also, try _Transfiguration Today, _issues 15, 68 and 101. They're very informative. And I know you love reading.  
__-Lancelot, the Transfiguration Helper_

I… I honestly don't know what to say. But, wow. Just… wow. Thank you.  
-Lily

**12/12/79**

_Did you know if it were 1912 (or 2012 for that matter), it would be 12/12/12? How cool is that?  
__-Lancelot, the Date Enthusiast.  
__P.S. Staying for the hols?_

I am astounded by your genius. Please pick up my incredibly sarcastic tone.  
-Lily  
P.S. Of course. I can't leave, now I have you writing to me.

_I don't want you to stay just because of me. I can use the school owls; I'll get your address out of McKinnon or Meadowes. And of course I recognize your undeniable sarcasm. I'm not thick.  
__-Lancelot, the Not Thick_

Could've fooled me.  
-Lily

_Har har. I am dying from your incredible wit. So are you staying, or not? I need to confer with my mates on persuasion tactics if not. I like to plan ahead, you see.  
__-Lancelot, the Pre-Planner_

Yes, I'm staying, and no, it is not because of you. Sorry to rain on your pre-planning parade.  
-Lily

_Any particular reason?  
__-Lancelot, the Curious_

**13/12/79**

_What was the reason for not replying? Did I do something wrong? I apologize; I wouldn't really have weeded your address out of your mates. I'm not a stalker, I promise.  
__-Lancelot, the Non Stalker_

Sorry. It's my fault. Just… Can you keep a secret?  
-Lily

_My name is not Lancelot, the Super Amazing Secret Keeper for nothing.  
__-Lancelot, the Super Amazing Secret Keeper_

Your title changes everyday.  
-Lily

_I am known by many titles, for I am the noblest ponce in the land, but for you I shall always be Secret Santa. And someone you can confide in. So I give you the knowledge that whatever you tell me shall be promptly locked away, never to resurface again unless you want to talk about it. I'm here for you.  
__-Lancelot, the Always Here For Lily Evans_

It's just… well; it's just that I don't have a place to go. I could go to my sister's (Petunia) new house, with her new husband, Vernon – who I positively detest – I suppose, but I doubt either wants to see me. Tuney loathes magic, and by cause to effect, me, and Vernon and I share a mutual despising.  
-Lily

_What about your parents? Won't they want to see you?_

They… They died, a year ago.

_Oh… Shit. Sorry, Lily, really, you didn't have to tell me – oh, bollocks. Here, have all the Jelly Slugs I own, holy – Merlin, Evans. I'm sending you every single hug I have in me through my mind right now. You fit amazingly into my chest, and I can lay my chin on the top of your head, if you wanted to know._

It's okay. Really, it is. And another secret? Even though technically don't know you, I think I sort of trust you. And thanks, those hugs are lovely. I knew I'd fit perfectly. I'm off to bed now, though. Night, Lancelot.

_Sleep tight, Lily._

**14/12/79**

_Good night? I've run out of Jelly Slugs (don't worry, I'll get some more), but for now please accept my gracious offering of Sugar Quills and strawberry crème Honeydukes finest. Only the best for the lady.  
__-Lancelot, the Guy Who Needs to Restock on Jelly Slugs_

**Ugh, why do I even sit with you? Where's Dorky? –MM**

What? –LE

_**That! **_**You don't even know the bloke. Control yourself! Your face is so cheery it makes me want to vomit. – MM**

Leave off. Just because you're jealous. – LE

**That I don't have my own personal stalker? – MM**

He's not a stalker. – LE

Just thought you should know I just defended your honor, when Marlene accused you of being a stalker. Thanks for the quills; I'm half done with them. They are surprisingly good for lessons such as this (I'm in Binns' class). The fudge is being stored away for a later date, for something so amazingly delicious must be saved for true emergencies.  
-Lily

_I am forever in your gratitude. Glad you like the quills. They're my favourite, along with Peppermint Pouches, you know? And what counts as a true emergency? Is it like, a life or death situation, or something girly like breaking up/finding out the guy you like has a girlfriend?  
__-Lancelot, the Sugar Quill and Peppermint Pouch Lover_

No. A true emergency counts as Marlene eating all your chocolate and you being really hungry. Just out of curiosity, though… you don't have a girlfriend, do you?  
-Lily

_Would it matter if I did?_

No.

_Damn, I was hoping for a yes._

Why are you writing to me, if you have someone?

_Who says I do?_

You!

_No, actually, I asked if it would matter. You said no. I didn't say anything. And by the look on your face right now, plus the unneeded force in which you just added to the last few notes, I'd say it does matter. (You tore a hole in the page in the last one.)_

You're in History of Magic? And no I didn't.

_I do go to the same school as you, Evans. And yes, you did._

Okay, well, I guess it would matter. But only a tiny bit. So miniscule, that I could easily pass it over as it not mattering at all. Nothing to break parchment over, though.

_Yup. _

Shut it.

**15/12/79**

_Someone looked mighty pleased with themselves when they got their essay back, no?  
__-Lancelot, the Observant_

You are honestly one of my favourite people in the entire world. Beat Marlene and imaginary boyfriend, hands down.  
-Lily  
P.S. You are writing to the ecstatic girl who just got her first 'O' on a Transfiguration assignment. On Animagi! The hardest bloody thing in the syllabus! An 'O'!

**16/12/79**

_I have little more than a week left until I am revealed. How exciting.  
__-Lancelot, the Soon To Be Not-Lancelot_

Is that a good thing or a bad thing?  
-Lily

_Want to elaborate further? Didn't really catch the meaning of the question.  
__-Lancelot, the Confused_

Well, I meant that once this is over, are we still going to chat? Or will we continue to be 'casual acquaintances', as you put it before? Because, in all honesty, I don't want to be your 'casual acquaintance'. That, for lack of a better term, would suck.  
-Lily

_You're stupider than I thought, Evans._

What?

_If you think I actually _liked_ being your 'casual acquaintance'. Hell, just writing to you under a pseudonym has made these past two weeks and one day probably the most amazing two weeks and one day in my life.  
__So, a good thing, in answer to your question. Then I can actually talk to you in class and not act like I'm not your Secret Santa. It's hard work, you know. I wanted to run to you the other day, just be there.  
__-Lancelot, the Non-Casual Acquaintance._

_You look ever so lovely when you blush, Miss Evans._

**17/12/79**

_So, does the amazing and infallible Lily Evans have any clues as to who I am? Not that I think you'll get it. I've concealed myself far too well. I'm just curious as to your thoughts.  
__-Lancelot, the Wants to Hear Your Thoughts Even if They Are Wrong_

I've been thinking about it for some time… Let's go over the list, shall we?  
Male, Tall Dark and Handsome, Quidditch player, Chaser, prideful of house, possibly a Gryffindor/Ravenclaw, in my History of Magic class, stunningly good at Transfiguration, arrogant prat, annoying, funny, ridiculously sweet, Sugar Quill and Peppermint Pouch fanatic (I've attached a bag, actually. I had some lying around. Thought you might like them, I can't say I have much of a taste for them myself.), gives great imaginary hugs where my head fits just below your chin… I honestly can't say I know. I would have said Amos at first – it seems like one of the stupid things he'd do. He doesn't seem to realize that I nearly died of boredom during our date, and still thinks I'm interested. Then you started being funny and happy and _not_ talk about yourself and your internship at the Ministry, and I realized there is no way you could be him. Can't say I was disappointed, though. I am annoyed that I have no idea, though. You beat me, Lance.  
-Lily

_To be honest I thought you might get it. That last letter was a complete lie. You're smarter than that, Evans. Come on, it must be so simple! My mates keep telling me you know it's me and that I'm being a ridiculous sod. I told them if you did you wouldn't be talking anymore, which is probably true. They thought as much, as well. So you honestly don't know?  
__-Lancelot, the Victorious  
__P.S. Thanks for the Peppermints. Got some Slugs the other day. Only fair to give them to you, seeing as I can't stand the things. But its okay, I knew you were weird. Especially not liking Peppermints. That's just ridiculous._

I really don't. I'm sorry. And tell those mates of yours that they are horrible friends. You're a lovely person. Honestly. And stop saying that! I promise you whoever you turn out to be, even if this is, like, Dumbledore – he is bloody omnipotent, wouldn't be surprised – or someone equally as creepy (not that he's creepy, but he is a good hundred years old. It would be mortifying to know I've told a hundred year old man with a beard taller than me that I've had dreams about him in my bed), I won't stop talking to you. I'm not that shallow! I give you my word that we'll stay in contact, and that (given you are within suitable age range), if you are _very_ lucky, get a Hogsmeade date out of me.  
-Lily  
P.S. Peppermints are vile. Thanks for the Slugs. Delicious, as always. _Unlike_ Peppermint Pouches.

_I don't know whether to jump for joy at the compliments and promise of staying in contact, laugh till I'm in tears at the whole Dumbledore thing, get into a heated argument with you over what is better – the Jelly Slug or the Peppermint Pouch (Peppermint Pouch, obviously), or slap myself silly to check this isn't some dream. Did you _seriously _just say you'd let me take you to Hogsmeade?_

If you're lucky.

_I'm pretty sure this is the best day of my life. What did I do to get so lucky, I ask as I jump around my dorm singing and prancing like my majestic unicorn that stabbed your imaginary boyfriend._

What I wouldn't give to see that.

_Wait another eight days. Then you can see me in all my prancing glory._

I can hardly wait.

**18/12/79**

_Sweet dreams?_

Oh, piss off. I can't help that I didn't sleep well last night.

_So you _rudely_ fall asleep in Herbology? While I was trying to get your attention, too?_

You have my attention now. What did you want to say?

_Well, I was _going_ to say your hair was giving me orgasms when you first walked in… but then you went to sleep and it got all tangled and looked like a Niffler had made it's burrow in it, so… no, I don't want to lie to you. It looks terrible._

Oh, jeez, way to make my day.

_Hey, it was a compliment at first._

Saying my hair gave you orgies?

_Yes. I was going to say your long, luxurious red locks were positively orgasmic._

Is that even a word?

_It is now_.

Well, thanks… I guess?

_I'm sure plenty of other things about you could drive me to orgasms though, so…_

I'm going to take that as a compliment.

_Oh, it is. My way of saying you're positively ravishing, and I would love the pleasure of ravishing you._

Wait another seven days.

**19/12/79**

_Good morning my darling. I had a rather pleasant dream last night, one were you were you claimed a starring role._

Oh? And what did this role entitle?

_Nothing terrible. Just you lying with me, your head on my chest and whispering sweet nothings. It was really quite lovely._

And I wasn't doing anything inappropriate?

_Unless you count confessing your undying love for me inappropriate. You might want to get onto that, you know. It'd make my year._

Only your year?

_Life, then._

That's better.

**20/12/79**

**That's it, Lil – I refuse to spend any more time with you. You're ridiculous! What if this guy is like… Fenwick? You can't be in love with my soul mate!**

Mar, I don't know if you know this, but your seeing Sirius. And I'm not in _love_ with my Secret Santa!

**Oh, yeah, keep telling yourself that. I don't care about your denial. And that doesn't mean I'm not the future Mrs. Fenwick!**

How do you think he'd feel – Sirius, that is – if I showed him these?

**I doubt he'd care. He's too busy lusting after Lupin.**

I don't even want to know what runs through your head, sweets.

**Whatever. Your loss. But what if it is sweet, sweet Benjamin Gary Fenwick?**

I highly doubt it is. See, this guy is Tall Dark and Handsome. If I'm not mistaken, Fenwick is _Lanky, Blonde and Resembles an Owl_.

**I'm thinking more Tall, Light and Ridiculously Good Looking With Unfortunately Large Eyes. And I didn't know you were so superficial.**

I'm not! I don't care if he's half troll. He's the funniest and sweetest guy I sort-of know. He could be the ugliest living thing on this planet, for all I care.

**Blurgh. Liar.**

Okay, that was a bit of a lie. I would prefer him to be incredibly gorgeous, but I'd settle for less that average.

**This is all well and good, love, but what happened to Potter?**

What do you mean?

**Last I recall, someone had taken a bit of a liking to a certain Head Boy…**

Sod off. That was at the beginning of the year. He isn't speaking to me at the moment.

**Why's that?**

I don't know. I can't think of anything I've done. I guess I'll never understand him.

**So who do you think it is?**

I want to tell you, but I don't, because you are Marlene McKinnon and as soon as I tell you the whole school will know.

**I will pinky swear to secrecy.**

Well… I'm kind of sort of hoping its James. But it's stupid, because I _know_ it isn't.

**Haaaaaa. Lily, you're ridiculous. And, why, pray tell, wouldn't it be him?**

Did I forget to put that he hasn't been speaking to me? And I doubt he'd go through so much trouble.

**I feel sorry for whoever it is.**

Why?

**Because they won't be the person you really want them to be. It's a horrible feeling, you know?**

And how would you know, McKinnon?

**Did I not tell you that my boyfriend is mad for someone else?**

You were serious?

**Blimey, Lil, half the school can see it.**

Mar, I really don't know what to say. Having boyfriends who want you to be their best friend – _guy_ best friend – isn't a regular occurrence for me. But he feels the same, though, right? Because you secretly want him to be Fenwick?

**Thing is – it doesn't affect him the way it does me. He – I don't think he cares that I don't want him. It hurts to think that I'm not wanted though. I guess I'm just that shallow.**

Well, you're wanted by _me_. Marry me, Marls?

**Oh, Miss Evans!**

_Interesting conversation?_

Hold that thought, Marlene. Secret Santa's written.

**Let me see!**

No! Bugger off!

Hi, Lancelot. Yes, in fact, it is an interesting conversation. Me and Marlene just got engaged. You're invited to the wedding, if you want. Also, you wouldn't happen to be Benjy Fenwick, would you?

_If I_ was_ Benjy Fenwick, what would you do?_

**He's not, is he?**

Marl, stop reading over my shoulder!

**Please tell me he's not! I don't want to die an old maid!**

Marlene Mary McKinnon, shut the fuck up!

Well, I would be slightly surprised since you have never shown any interest in me, and run for my life because my best friend is slightly in love with him, and might kill me if she read some of the things I've said/you've said.

**YOU CAN'T TELL HIM THAT!**** And what have you said, you saucy minx?**

Too late. And that's something you'll never get out of me.

**If this is Benjy, then you are so dead.**

Dear Merlin, if you can read this, please make my Secret Santa be _anyone_ but Benjamin Gary Fenwick.

**Praying won't help.**

_McKinnon has it bad for Fenwick? Weren't we discussing the vile view of her and Sirius snogging at the breakfast table the other day?_

I don't think it's him, Marl!

**PRAISE THE LORD! I TAKE IT BACK! PRAYING WORKS! DEAR MERLIN, LET ME MARRY BENJAMIN GARY FENWICK AND HAVE COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF HOT SEX WITH HIM AND BARE HIM MANY CHILDREN!**

Dibs on Godmother.

**Of course.**

Yes, Marlene does have it _bad_ for Benjy. Just read some of the stuff she had just written. It's kind of scary. It's a good thing we're close, or I'd just up and leave her. She just read that. If you saw, getting hit by her is something I have to put up with all of the time. So, just to clear things up, you're _not_ Benjy?

_No, my dearest Lillian, I am not Benjamin Fenwick. Plus, it's nice to know I have something over McKinnon. Blackmail is sweet._

Lillian? Where the hell did that come from? And oh, yes it is.

_Don't know, really. Just fit the mood, I think._

Not to pry, but do you mind giving me another hint as to your identity? I'm curious now.

_I support Puddlemere. That good enough?_

**Potter supports Puddlemere.**

Bugger off, Marl. I don't care.

**Tell that to your face. You look like Christmas has come early.**

_Bugger off_, Marl.

**21/12/79**

_When's the wedding, then?_

If your talking about me and Marlene, that was purely joking. I don't swing that way – not that it's a bad thing or anything, people are entitled to fancy whomever they choose.

_Oh, no, I was reffering to you and Dearborn. Were getting awful cozy with him in Transfiguration, no?_

Oh, Merlin, once again I am in your debt.

_What?_

I am thanking the old, bearded guy up there that you are _not_ Caradoc Dearborn. Also – jealous much?

_Now I know _that_, no. I'm not. I was, I'll admit. But why the coziness, if you didn't want me to be Dearborn?_

I know your in most of my classes, so I took a shot and was hoping you'd see, then I'd judge from your reaction to test if you were him or not.

_Smart, Evans. I'm impressed._

It's been known to happen.

_Can't say I'm flattered with your guesses, though. Diggory? Fenwick? Dearborn? DUMBLEDORE? You wound my fragile ego, Evans._

From three weeks of conversing, I'd say your ego is anything but fragile. And 1) I asked if you were Amos just for confirmation, because flirting with pompous exes isn't something I make a habit of, 2) That was purely for Marlenes sake, 3) I think you can understand why I didn't want you to be Caradoc, and 4) he was an example. I never _really_ thought you were him.

_So if none of these are _real_ guesses, who do you think I am?_

Well, there's one person I _hope_ you'll be, but I don't think you are.

_And why wouldn't I be? Actually, don't answer. I'm afraid you'll say grandpa or something, because he used to give you Jelly Slugs – and aside from being offended, I'd be rather sickened, because talking to your grandpa they way you talk to me – inviting me to your bed and such – well, that's incest, and frankly, purely disgusting._

No, you don't remind me of my grandpa. Thank Merlin for that. And you _wouldn't_ be him, because he doesn't like me. At least I don't think he does.

_That's rubbish. Everyone in this school adores you._

Everyone in this school adores me? Really? Go tell that to the wannabe-Death-Eater crew who have threatened my life on more than one occasion.

Lancelot? What happened? Why aren't you replying?

_I'll talk to you tomorrow, Lily. Sorry, I'm in detention for the rest of the night. Hexed a bunch of Slytherins so badly they'll still be in the Hospital Wing come the end of the year._

**22/12/79**

Marlene, read that and tell me that's not the sweetest thing you've ever read.

**What part am I reading?**

There –

**MERLIN LILY! "**_**Inviting me to your bed and such"?**_** Bloody hell!**

Oh, leave off. You're one to talk. Read there to there.

**Okay, okay…**

**AWWWWWWWWWW. THAT'S THE SWEETEST THING EVER. LILY I AM SO JEALOUS RIGHT NOW BUT I CAN'T EVEN SHOW IT BECAUSE OH THAT'S SO CUTE. YOU BITCH, YOU'RE SO LUCKY.**

**Why did you call him Lancelot?**

Secret code names.

**I'm not even going to pretend to understand.**

Good.

_I apologize._

What?

**Why's he apologizing? Did he get himself a girlfriend? Shag someone?**

Marlene, go away! He doesn't have a girlfriend, he told me.

**That's why I wrote '**_**get**_**'.**

Oh shit, he didn't, did he?

_I apologize for my thoughtless behavior last night and leaving Avery with his foot where his face should be. It seems like the sort of thing you'd disapprove of, and for that, I'm sorry._

**I take it back. I don't want Fenwick anymore. I want Mr. Secret Santa.**

Well cry me a river, because you can't have him. He's mine.

**Bitch.**

What are you even talking about, Lancelot? That's probably the sweetest thing – no, _is_ the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me. Thank you. Don't apologize. (And normally I would disapprove, as you quite rightly said, but I'll make an exception, because it's you and was in my defense. Plus, Avery-Foot-Face? Love it.)

_Lily Evans, you are perfect._

**Stop blushing and just marry the guy already.**

**23/12/79**

_So, tell me something about yourself, Evans._

What do you want to know?

_Favourite color?_

Lilac.

_Hm. I'd always had you pegged as a yellow girl, myself. Favourite drink?_

Yellow's my second favourite. Hot coffee, two sugars and milk, or a muggle drink called Fanta.

_Oh, I know you're a coffee person. Um… Favourite… Flower?_

People always assume it's a lily because, duh, it's my name. Frankly, I can't stand them. They represent sadness and mourning and sympathy, and they _reek_. Horrible flowers. I like daisies. Represent the beginnings of spring, and are just so dainty, and you can make chains out of them! I love daisies.

_Bit deep there, Evans. Somehow I knew you'd hate lilies though. Just seems like one of the sorts of things you'd do. Pet peeves?_

You know what a pet peeve is?

_I have a best friend who's a half blood._

Ah. Well, I'd have to say… No treacle tart at dinner, Marlene eating all my chocolate stash when its her time of the month, her getting mad at _me_ when I eat all her chocolate stash when it's _my _time, people calling me 'Lily-Flower'; like, shut up, I'm not all delicate and flowery and shit, I can kick your ass, Transfiguration in general, although that could count as the bane of my existence, as I have said before… and… oh, oh, when the Jelly Slugs don't have enough jelly goo in the centre. I _hate_ that. I mean, hello, they're called Jelly Slugs, they need to have jelly!

_You sound like a bratty teen._

I _am_ a bratty teen.

_No arguments there._

Like you're not.

_No, I'm a bratty, arrogant teen._

No arguments there.

**24/12/79**

_Come on then. Last day. Tell me who you want me to be._

No.

_Why not?_

Because. Marlene. She said it's horrible to be the person that isn't really who the other wants.

_What would she know about it?_

Apparently Sirius has got it bad for Remus.

_Nice._

So she knows what she's talking about.

_But I don't care if I'm not that person. I've spent the last – four years? Five years? Being the person you don't want. I can deal with it._

But that wasn't intentional, and I'm so, _so_ sorry for making you feel like that, and if I tell you it _will _be intentional.

_Oh, I'm pretty sure it was intentional. Some of the stuff you said actually hurt, y'know._

This would be so much easier if I knew who you were.

_I'm not telling until you tell me who I'm not but you want me to be._

Well then I guess I'll never know who you are.

**25/12/79**

_Merry Christmas, my lovely Lily! I hope you like the present – it's not much, but I'm on a budget after all the Jelly Slugs I've had to buy for you. It's a daisy chain, but don't worry, it's charmed. Lifelong preservance charm, actually. It'll live as long as you do. And it's got an unbreakable charm, and waterproof charm, all the works. It's virtually indestructible. Just thought you might like it. Wear with pride!_

Wow – I don't – wow. Thank you. Seriously, _thank _you. It's perfect.

_Glad you like it._

I was planning on giving you something, but I can't exactly do it if your not here, in person.

_Is this just some ruse to get me to tell you who I am without you having to tell me who you want me to be?_

Actually, it isn't. I promise.

_Damn. I'm curious now._

_I won't give in._

_You can't make me._

_I won't come and find you._

I'm in room 15, first floor.

_I'm not coming, Evans._

_I'm not._

* * *

"Merry Christmas."

The body of James Potter enters the abandoned classroom, eyes falling upon a shocked-looking Lily Evans, hair loose around her shoulders, clad in an oversized Christmas jumper and leggings.

He nervously scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah, I'm the one who's been writing you – I'm Lancelot. Sorry… I told you we didn't exactly get along and that…"

She still doesn't say anything. Her mouth is still hanging open, her eyes still wide, her shoulders still hunched as she stares at him.

His eyes dart around the room, can feel his nerves on end. This was a _bad_ idea, a very bad idea –

She crosses the room in a matter of seconds, and her arms are around his neck, her lips on his.

Originally, he's too stunned to respond. Lily Evans is kissing him. _Lily Evans is kissing him_. Then his brain kicks into action and he's reciprocating with just as much fervor as she.

"Can you keep a secret?" she whispers as her lips travel the planes of his jaw.

"Lancelot, the Super Amazing Secret Keeper, at your service," he replies, just as quietly.

A breathy chuckle escapes, and finally she says, "I wanted him to be you."

* * *

**A/N: **Yeah, I have horrible language in this... But really, I have the foulest mouth in the world.


	9. Depending

**A/N: **I'm not all too sure what I was thinking while writing this, but I was in a metaphorical mood, so to speak. And angsty Jily... Just doesn't get better than that!

**Disclaimer: **All rights and reserves go to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I am in no way making any profit of any kind from this.

Wow, I feel professional.

* * *

He'll hurt you.

He'll use you.

He'll break you.

You're a prize to be won, the battered old trophy up on the top shelf that hasn't been dusted in a while that he hasn't had the pleasure of neglecting yet, only Chocolate Frog card he hasn't yet acquired, the one left to complete his extensive collection.

And you tell yourself all of this when he's asking you, because you don't want to feel the pain of loosing him, because you know it will kill you.

And while your glass heart cracks and splinters with every cruel remark, every cold glare you dish out, you continue, because it's better than having broken shards.

You become distant and unfeeling, but you don't care, because when you let people in, they hurt you. When you let people in, they have the power to break you.

He isn't someone you can let in, as much as you want to.

And it kills you; to look into those beautiful eyes of his, see the flash of pure, undiluted pain course through him. To know that you've caused it.

And you're selfish, so selfish, because you'll put him through all of that just to keep your fragile heart beating.

In the end, it isn't worth it.

Because that transparent, glass heart of yours isn't worth keeping. It's not worth watching the single most person you love so much, so unconditionally, so unrequitedly, go through so much pain at your bloody, dripping hands' expense.

They are permanently scarred by the damage you've left on his soul, and you don't know how to rid yourself of the ugly marks.

You want to fix his broken body, put back the pieces, mend him, make him whole again, but you don't know how.

You want to take his kind, loyal, good heart and bring it back to life, and share it between the two of you, so you no longer have to survive with a long-dead vessel.

You want to bask in the warmth of him, but you can't, because you've lost your chance, he's given up the game, because your marred skin isn't worth the time.

The trophy, the complete collection, isn't worth the pain.

And in that realization, you are sure the final blow is taken to the weakened glass, and you are crouched in the corner, sobbing, alone and bleeding, cut by all the broken shards, old wounds reopened.

It would obviously be him to find you in that state, the person who caused your undoing.

You want to hate him, really, you do. You want to loathe his very existence, his every breath cause you pain for the fact that someone so vile would be allowed to live, but you can't, and you end up feeling that way about yourself, that someone as cruel and heartless and selfish as you shouldn't be allowed to live.

Because they shouldn't, really. It's not fair on the good people like him, the kind hearted and brave and loyal and selfless and sweet. It's not fair they have to deal with people like you, have to feel needless pain at their hand.

And you scream at him, beg him to tell you that he hates you, that you're the worst person alive, because you need to hear it. You need to know that the person you won't ever admit you're in love with hates you, despises your soul, wants nothing to do with you.

But he won't admit.

He feeds you lies that aren't really lies, as much as you want them to be. You know they aren't, can tell they aren't, because the look in his eyes is undeniable, completely honest, all cards on the table.

It is with trembling, bruised and bloody hands that you realize you not only hold the scars you've borne to him, but his heart also.

You want to run, to leave, to never, ever look back again, because you're _not good enough for him_. You're calculating and devious and spiteful, and he's gullible and brash and bold, and he deserves _so_ much better, someone whole, someone capable of loving him the way he deserves to be loved.

You want to hand him back the heart he's entrusted you with, but you can't. You can't break this alive, beating, faulted human in front of you.

You can't lie to him anymore.

With hitched breath you come clean, wipe off all the festering secrets you've kept, scrub at all the blackened marks of pain that you've caused him.

He's quiet while you pour out your soul, your lungs, your brain, your kidneys – but not your heart. There is nothing left there.

As your speaking, another realization dawns on you, and it's almost as terrifying as realizing that his heart rested in your tiny palm.

You realize that you're replying on the heart you so wanted to share with him before. You're counting on each steady, rhythmic beat to keep you breathing, the one organ supplying two bodies.

If he takes that away, you're going to die. You know it, and it is one of the most terrifying things you've ever felt. It's not so much the dying, it's knowing that one person could be so important; could mean so much to you – it's shell shocking.

And like you were begging him before to hate you, you're begging him to forgive you.

You're on your knees, torn body ragged from the heaving sobs wracking it, the crimson blood slowly ebbing from the various wounds your icy heart has left upon it.

And he's holding you, whispering things you can't hear over the animal sounds emanating from your twisted form. His strong arms are cradling your chest, wrapping themselves around your waist, and his calloused palms are dancing over your translucent, gossamer skin, slowly bringing life and warmth back into your stone-cold veins.

Salty tears trace themselves down both yours and his faces, and you want to die, because _once _again, you've hurt him.

You're nothing but bad luck, nothing but trouble.

You honestly don't mind if he leaves you now, no – you want him to. You don't want to cause this shining person any more pain. You don't want to flaw his imperfect self even more.

With every request he leave you and find someone who would treat him right, he holds you closer, kisses your paper-thin skin that once more. You tell him to stop, that you aren't worth the trouble, that you don't deserve him, that being his trophy would only be his downfall.

With every word a shower of feather light kisses trail your empty body, wherever his lips can touch.

You want to run your frozen hands over his burning, tan skin, feel alive for just a second, but you won't allow yourself that luxury. You can't have him, because you'll trap him in a gilded cage, and you won't know what to do with him.

And he'll go so willingly into the golden and sliver wrought bars, and you know he will, and you don't want to do that to him. You want him to fly, to soar and reach the stars, and not have you blocking his every advance, simply because you need him to survive this grey world.

You've stopped talking now, reduced to quiet sobs and deep breaths. He looks into your eyes, the piercing, dancing and gleaming hazel penetrating you, looking as though he can see right through you.

"Lily, you'll never be my downfall. I have my demons, and you have yours, but they'll never affect me as they affect you, and the same goes for mine. My only downfall is that I can't function without you, like part of me is missing, that you're so vital to my working body I can't breath without you near. I'd give anything to be the person that brings you back to reality, and I'd give up forever to stay by your side. I'll never truly leave the ground without you right there next to me, and I want to take off _so badly_, but I can't. Your not a trophy, and you never will be. You're my lungs, my vital organ, my necessity, not something old and peeling on a high shelf. You're my wings, my capability to glide, my soft golden and red feathers. You're my Lily, the one thing I can't live without."

And in that moment, you find yourself whole again, willingly sacrificing your lungs so he can breathe, finding the blood pumping through your body once again as he hands you over his heart.

And then you're soaring, floating, gliding, flying through the stars on the pitch-black canvas, hand in his, lips on his, hearts and lungs as one.

* * *

**A/N: **Sometimes I scare myself with what I write...

And I am sorry if I came across mentally handicapped in any of the AN's I've written. I'm entirely sane, I assure you. It's all this bloody Christmas-ness. It's going to be the death of me.

Anyway, a very merry Jily Christmas to all you wonderful people, and my deepest, sincerest apologies to ginnyweasley for having me be her secret santa (plus well wishes too, because I am filled with unabashed Christmas cheer for no reason other than the fact A Christmas Carol has just been on the telly. Best Christmas film ever.)

May all your dreams come true,

Ruby


End file.
